BADGE of HONOR
by GStales
Summary: I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more. - Richard Lovelace
1. Chapter 1

**BADGE of HONOR**

A Gunsmoke Fan-Fiction

The Gunsmoke characters do not belong to me, and I make no profit from telling my tale.

This story is dedicate to my friends - who have refused to let it die.

one

It had taken a long while for him to recover from the injuries he'd suffered at the hands of Mace Gore's men. Months later, he still looked hollow eyed and gaunt. He had pain too; a sudden ill-planned move would produce a sharp intake of air and unconscious grimace. Most disconcerting were the headaches which stemmed, Doc advised from the bullet that had grazed his brow. Grateful he was alive, Kitty Russell was only too happy to grant his every wish, even if that meant to step back from him.

There had developed an undercurrent of secrecy about him, and she knew without clear evidence there were things he was trying to keep from her. It was to be expected, the badge had always come first. After all he'd made a vow to duty and signed his name in oath, while she on the other hand had garnered no such pledge. One couldn't expect any paperless vows to have priority. At night in bed she'd mull over the mysterious incidents that were occurring on an increasing basis.

The initial episode had taken place three weeks earlier, she'd brought the mail over for him from the post office, as she did from time to time. She hadn't bothered to look at the letters and later wished she had, in the hopes they might have provided some clue to his action.

He had rifled through the envelopes and selected one from the pack for his immediate attention. He'd opened it quickly and scanned the contents.

"Something important?" Kitty had asked.

He'd given it a second glance and she watched his eyes move back and forth across the paper as if memorizing the lines. "No, not important." He'd replied flatly. He had crumpled the paper in a ball and tossed it in the small stove in the corner of the room along with the envelope. The fire had made a popping sound as it consumed the letter.

The incident had been repeated twice more in her presence over the next few weeks. A letter hastily read and immediately destroyed; the action uncharacteristic of the man and troubling to the woman.

There had been other occurrences too; strangers, who passed the time with the lawman but warranted no introduction to any members of Dillon's circle of friends. His late night visits to her had ended as well, and this was the most disturbing of all, for while the badge had his duty pledged, she'd always thought she held claim to his heart.

It had been the day before he'd left town so abruptly that another pair of strangers had shown up. They'd come in on the afternoon stage dressed in the garb of cowhands, but it was obvious to anyone seasoned in frontier life that neither the men nor their clothes had seen active duty on ranch or trail. They'd taken a table near the back of the Long Branch where they could watch all who entered the saloon. When Matt came in he'd chatted with her for a moment and then made the rounds talking with several of the local citizens before pulling up a chair at the stranger's table. He talked with them less than five minutes and certainly to anyone who gave it their casual consideration there was nothing unusual about this actions, but to Kitty Russell the whole situation made her uneasy. She decided then and there to confront the lawman at the first opportunity.

She waited and watched and when he made his late night rounds she was there at the door. The Long Branch was empty by that time as were the streets of town. She pulled him into the saloon and with a finger poked at his chest, ordered him to tell her what was going on, "See here Cowboy, I've got considerable time invested in your health and well being, and I figure that earns me some answers."

He grabbed the offending finger and then captured her hand, "Kitty you're right, you deserve answers in fact you deserve a whole lot more than that, but I can't give you any , at least not now."

"When?" she demanded impatiently.

He smiled at her persistence, even as he studied the way her face looked with the soft shadows from a lamp set on the bar. He'd made a promise to himself to leave her out of this, but he was drawn by a primal desire as old as man and as new as the moment. He kissed her. At first slow and warm, allowing fire the opportunity to take hold. When it did he cursed the need he had for her and his weakness to deny it.

In the morning he told her he was leaving, "I got some business to attend to."

She'd been watching him dress from the beneath the covers of her bed. "How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know." He admitted. "A long time."

She pulled a sheer silk gown over her head before moving to him, "I don't understand."

"I know … look Kitty, I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you more, but … the job …"

She thought she'd fought through the invisible wall he'd constructed between them. He'd just spent the night making love to her, yet here he was talking about the job. Frustration and jealousy for the badge powered her sudden anger. "Damn the job."

"Kitty."

"Damn the job and damn you."

He hung his head, her words had hit their mark and it hurt.

"Go then … there's nothing to hold you. Get the hell out of my room, get the hell out of my life. I wish to God I'd never met you."

He looked up giving her a long sad look before quietly turning opening the door and leaving.

It had taken a trio of heartbeats for her to come to her senses and run after him; down the stairs and through the deserted saloon. "Please … don't go, please." He'd stopped in his tracks and waited for her to come to him. "I'm sorry." She said simply.

He'd pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her bare shoulders. They'd rocked back and forth, clinging to one another, not knowing when they'd be like this again, He, afraid to let go, but aware life never stands still and all things both good and bad pass.

It was later that day, after he'd ridden out of town that she discovered his badge on top of her dresser.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

There had been no answers to his abrupt departure from Dodge. Festus and Doc were just as confused as she was by his leaving. Hagen tried to fill Dillon's boots keeping a lid on the cow town, but Dodge needed an experienced lawman and several weeks after Dillon left a telegram arrived stating a new Marshal would arrive to take over. Not long after that the Dodge City Post reported some troubling news.

With trembling hands, Kitty picked up the newspaper to read the article that went with the headlines. Doc Adams, her old friend had been keeping her company that afternoon in an effort to shield her from curiosity seekers, "It's not true Doc, you and I both know it."

The old man agreed, "I'd need a lot more proof than just words on a paper to believe Matt Dillon had anything to do with that string of stage holdups." He'd read the article and heard the talk and had tried to put together this absurd jigsaw puzzle but none of the pieces fit. Matt's sense of honor was too great to ever be lured into taking up against this side of the law. He'd sooner die fighting to protect it, a fact he'd proven when Mace Gore had taken over Dodge City.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Now, there was a price on Matt Dillon's head. New law came to town, Hiram T Mahoney, an Irishman who hailed from Iowa and had fought in the war and who like Matt had joined the US Marshal's Service shortly after Appomattox. He was met with a distrustful eye for those in Dodge who'd come to feel they could depend on the law, now felt the bitter blow of deep betrayal.

During sleepless nights, and restless days Kitty Russell would go over the final words they'd spoken. Matt had told her it was the job, and the idea that somehow his infidelity to duty and honor was the ultimate price of the paper oath he'd take kept repeating itself in her head.

Festus Hagen was despondent; there was no place for him in the new administration ruling Dodge and those who had held him up to respect for the alliance he'd had with Matt Dillon, now saw him as a cohort to a criminal. Kitty too was looked upon suspiciously and she'd heard more than one comment questioning when she'd leave town to take up with that outlaw Dillon. "Outlaw", the cruelest word of all to be attached to Matthew Dillon.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Sitting around the back table of the Long Branch, Matt's friends tried to make sense of the situation. In the center lay a Wanted Poster with is picture on it. "$5,000 Reward Dead or Alive", it read.

"I'm a goin' to look fer him." Festus announced pushing to his feet.

"Just hold on there." Doc ordered.

"I been a holdin' on Doc, and I ain't gonna no more. He's done gone loco, ain't been right since Gore hit town, and you know it and Miss Kitty knows it too. I reckon it's a better thing I stop him than one of them bounty hunters."

"Is that it Doc?" Kitty questioned. "Did something happen to his mind when that bullet grazed his head?"

It was the old man who got to his feet now; he turned his back to his friends and made his way over to the bar to pour himself another drink. Truth be told, he'd been drinking a little too much lately and he knew he should slow down. But, he needed something to dull the hurt in his heart and he figured this was a better alternative than laudanum. "I don't know. I just don't know anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

**two**

Sleep was no friend to Kitty Russell. It was not even a companion of late. She spent her nights in fitful unrest, frequently getting out of bed to stand in front of her window, with her gaze directed across the street. As before a light burned in the Marshal's office but it burned now for someone other than Matt Dillon. Fatigue brought its own Army. Reality fought with fantasy, if she closed her eyes she could imagine him still there asleep on a cot, too small for his large frame. Better yet, she could believe he was asleep in her own bed. Her thoughts on so many nights strayed to the last they spent together. The memories of passion brought aftershocks that even months later sent tremors coursing through her intimate parts. "Pretty lady", he had whispered in a voice husky with passion, "what you do to me, dear God what you do to me."

"Pretty Lady." If he was her "Cowboy' then she was his "Pretty Lady. This was a private thing, a phrase meant for her ears alone. A term of endearment that encompassed not only her beauty, but her social status as well, for he never saw her as anything less than a 'lady'.

Inevitably reality would win the fight. Doubt and worry plagued her consciousness. Where was he? What was he doing, why had he left? The knowledge he hadn't trusted her enough to seek her confidence was a burden to a heart that already ached with the weight of unanswered questions.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Despite Doc's arguments to the contrary, Festus had saddled up his old mule and left Dodge. "Ol' Doc, don't you see? You don't let a mad dog go free, not if'n it's yours. You see to it. You do what's gotta be done." Friendship had formed a bond tighter than brotherhood and it was an unspoken duty to the honor of that kinship that Hagen bring Matt Dillon home, one way or another. Family saw to family.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Talk in Dodge had turned to conjecture, speculation to gossip and lies, those who'd marked Dillon as a friend, now claimed they'd known he'd been too honest to be true. At night she would hold his badge in her hand and wonder why - why she hadn't appreciated heaven while she had it and why she had to suffer hell now, for she could see no sin she'd created significant enough for this brand of damnation.

News from outside Ford County came to town by variable sources. The most dependable was the telegraph, which provided immediate, albeit sketchy information. Next, came Dodge City visitors, still in possession of copies of their hometown newspapers and armed with personal interpretations of the reports. Finally there was always the "Dodge City Post". This weekly chronicle was undoubtedly the least accurate source of news, for it garnered its coverage from saloon hearsay, back fence gossip and barbershop manipulated fact. It was a small thing to hang on to but Kitty Russell did, blindly hoping by some twist of fate the accounts that filtered her way were the product of sensationalistic reporting and had little connection to the truth behind Matt Dillon's actions.

The Post had been full of news and rumors were rampant in the Long Branch that day. Texas born Matt Dillon was riding with the Barger Brothers, a rebel gang who six year after Lee's surrender to Grant were still wearing the confederate gray and fighting for the 'cause'. They'd been heading east through Missouri and Southern Illinois and had recently begun to extend their treachery to small banks housing the lifeblood of northern interest.

A dismal smoky haze churned overhead; the stink of half-penny cigars and hand rolled cigarettes saturated the air. Stale beer and cheap perfume clung to the dresses of the bar gals who scurried through the busy saloon trying to keep up with the orders. Scattered conversations each hummed the same refrain.

"Ain't no better than Quantrill, no better'n Frank' n Jesse James … no better n Mace Gore …" Farmer Jimmy Taylor pronounced.

"Knew it all along, I coulda told you so." Nathan Burke crowed.

A traveling salesman spoke up, "I know a fella, who talked to a man who was kin to a shopkeeper in Wayneborough, said Dillon killed a man in cold blood, shot him dead for looking at him."

"Dillon'll come to his end, it'll be a damn bloody one too, you can bet on it!"

She wanted to put her hands over her ears and scream at them to go to hell. Instead, she balled her hands to fists and looked at Sam. "It ain't true Miss Kitty. I won't believe a word of it." She took a deep breath and leaned forward resting her arms on the bar. She stayed that way for a moment while her blood pressure equalized. Her back was to the batwing doors when Hiram T. Mahoney entered the saloon. The Marshal was a small man who preferred to wear a fancy pin striped suit that carried the persistant odor of moth balls. Upon his head he wore a derby hat that always struck Kitty as too large for his diminutive skull. He'd worn the badge in Dodge City for nearly three months now and was still no more a part of the community than the day he'd first stepped off the stage. Kitty sensed his honesty but nevertheless felt no obligation to friendly courtesy.

With his hat suspended beneath ten fingers he approached the saloon owner, "Ma'am?"

She turned with a start, premonition establishing a keen sense of foreboding, "Mr. Mahoney? What is it?"

"I got a wire - reports be that Dillon was wounded in a raid. Barger's men got away but the news is Matt took himself a bullet, maybe two in the back. The feller that shot him says it's bad."

Her breath caught in her throat and storm clouds darkened her vision. She blinked hard and swayed. Sam seeing color evaporate from her complexion rushed around the bar to grab her before she fell. An arm around her waist provided support as he guided her to the back office. She sat down hard at her desk chair, shaking her head back and forth.

Sam poured a glass of brandy and offered it to her, "Drink this Miss Kitty, it'll put the starch back in your spine." She downed the glass and he refilled it, she drank the second in a single gulp.

The strong liquor revived the color in her face and gave her enough false courage to get through the day, but did nothing for her heart which shriveled in size with each waiting hour.

A week passed with no news. She didn't know if he were still alive, although intuition told her she'd know if he were dead. Like Festus she was besought by the need to go and find him. Keeping her in Dodge City was the fleeting hope he might come to her there. She had made a decision the night she'd heard he'd been wounded. It didn't matter anymore what side of the law he was on. The only thing that mattered was love. Without giving it hard thought, Kitty knew she'd go with him if he asked her to and even if he didn't. She made ready her traveling bag, making sure there was cash enough to see them through for a long while. She waited and hoped and even prayed some.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Late summer brought the cattle drives to town. Dodge was unruly, bordering on anarchy. It was more than Mahoney could handle especially without a seasoned man like Festus Hagen to help. Those in the saloon business tried their best to placate both trail hands and local citizens knowing to do justice to either was impossible. It was long past midnight when Kitty finally opened the door to her room with dance shoes in hand. Below her the bar was still noisy and crowed and she knew to sleep during this ruckus unlikely, but she needed a quiet break from the seemingly endless furor. Without prelude, the hard steel of a Colt .45 prodded her back as she walked in the darkened room. A course English voice hissed, "I'm 'ere to take you to Dillon; 'e needs you."

Her heart was hammering so violently in her breast she feared she wasn't hearing right, "Where is he?" She breathed.

"I hain't h'at liberty to say, mum, you can pack yourself one small carpet bag and dress yourself to ride."

With the weapon aimed at her she stepped behind her changing screen and stripped off her saloon dress and pulled on a dark split skirt, white shirtwaist and sturdy riding boots. Throwing a black hooded cape over her shoulders she grabbed the carpetbag she'd prepared weeks earlier. "I'm ready." She told the man. He moved to the door, but she gave one last backward glance to her room, not knowing if she'd ever see it again. She stopped her scan at her dressing table. The moonlight caught the reflection of Matt Dillon's badge resting there. "Just a minute." She said, hurrying to the table to pull the tin star into her palm, before shoving it to the depths of her pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

**three**

They took the back stairs which lead to the alleyway behind the saloon. Two horses were waiting for them and they rode off into a night lit only by the crescent moon.

Close to morning they came to a small nearly forsaken community dominated by a rundown saloon, deserted church and boarded up general store. Tumbleweeds seemed to be the town's only active occupants. A railroad track ran along one side of the derelict buildings. They waited only minutes before a train pulled into town. They climbed aboard, leaving the horses tied to a hitching rail in front of the makeshift depot. The passenger car was crowded and they were forced to sit side by side in the cramped space.

She studied him from the corner of her eye. He was of medium height and dressed in new cowboy garb. His canvas britches still held store folded creases. His voice when he deemed fit to use it carried strong traces of a cockney burr. The contours of his face were vaguely familiar and she reckoned he must have been one of the strangers she'd seen Matt with before he left town. Though she asked many questions he answered with only a grunt or a nod and she knew no more by the next nightfall than she had the previous.

They traveled on and on, three days in the crowded car, their only food, farmers cheese, hard bread and weak coffee offered by the train peddlers who worked the cars at the various stops along the way. When they hit the Mississippi they boarded a small paddlewheel which took them eighty miles upriver. They left the boat at the port of Bellevue, Illinois. A farmer was waiting for them with a hay wagon, which they rode for half a day. They were dropped off on a hard packed dirt trail in the middle of nowhere. Here they remained until a stage passed by. For the next two days they were jostled along a crude route traveling across the vast flat expanse of Illinois and Indiana. It was a relief when they again boarded a train in the town of Emmetsburg, Kentucky. They rode the train throughout the next day and by late afternoon they arrived in Richmond, Virginia. "'ere's your bag mum. This is where we get off."

There was a lineup of carriages waiting for hire. Her companion headed to a dilapidated hansom cab driven by an elderly black man. The old gentleman tipped his hat and spryly jumped down from the rig. He gallantly helped her into his conveyance as though it were as fine as the grandest carriage there. They traveled along back streets until they were out of town, finally, coming to a large estate on the river's edge. The driver pulled the coach to a stop in front of imposing fancy-work wrought iron gates. She was handed her bag and forced from the buggy, "'ere you be. Ring the bell five times, fast like. Someone 'ill come to fetch you."

"Is Matt here?" She asked but the carriage with her escort in it was already pulling away. She glanced around, the fields behind her were active with the fall threshing. Through the gate she could see a sweet smelling apple orchard, its trees laden with ripe fruit and beyond that an immense white stoned mansion in the federal design. Multiple pillars lined up at right angles to a wide veranda, that ran the length of the building. She picked up her bag and walked to the gate, pulling the bell five times, in rapid succession as directed. Another black man, this one young and dressed in fine dark broadcloth, came walking down the path in a dignified strut. He nodded to her as he lifted the catch and pulled the gate open. "Miz Russell?" He asked.

Wide eyed, she nodded. "Yes."

"I'm JoJoba. Missy, you'd best follow me." He took her bag and started off around the house walking on a herringbone patterned brick path. It was clear in every direction she looked, that opulence ruled. Purple asters, violet hued phlox, ruby chrysanthemum, yellow golden rod and thickseed sunflowers decorated the garden path with brilliant fall colors as rich to the eye as priceless jewels and as fragrant as Paris perfumes. At the rear of the house another enticing aroma set her senses to reeling. Jojoba nodded at the steps leading to the kitchen porch and the screen door beyond.

The black man reached in front of her to open the door, "Go right on in Missy." He invited politely, and in a louder voice he hollered, "Macy, Miz Macy yous got company here and she looks to be plumb tuckered out and famished."

Macy was a tiny woman of undetermined years. Her ageless skin was the color of generously creamed coffee. She wore a black dress covered by a spotless white apron and on her head was wrapped a red and yellow tignon, below which dangled large gold hoop earrings. "Hush up you Jojoba; we don't wants Massa Johnston to hear you." Her keen dark eyes traveled up and down Kitty's weary frame and she tut-tutted, with a shake of her head, that made her hoop earrings dance. "We's been s'pecting you, I gots a room all fixed up, you just come with me honey, and I'll get you settled in, and then in a little while, I's gonna bring you some of my porky puddy pie."

Kitty had no idea what porky puddy pie was, but if it was the cause of the stomach-rumbling aroma she'd been inhaling, she was more than ready for it. The tiny black woman took the bag from Jojoba and led the way. "We's going up these here back stairs, you just follow me."

The room indicated as Kitty's was obviously in the servant's quarters three steps lower than the main sleeping rooms. The bed was nothing more than a well-padded cot, but Kitty thought it looked as soft as any heavenly cloud. There was water in a pitcher and a basin for washing with soap and fresh toweling sitting beside it. She noticed this all in a brief glance.

Kitty sat on the cot while Macy put her bag on the room's one chair, then she bent down and with the experience of one trained in the service of dressing and undressing her female employers; pulled off Kitty's boots. She gave her a gentle shove to the shoulder and Kitty fell to the bed with her head centered in the downy pillow. "There now, you rest yourself for a spell. I'll have some victuals waiting for you when you wakes up."

It took no more than to close her eyes for sleep to come. When she awoke the room was pitch black, with the only light a thin slit shining from beneath the doorway. It took a moment to adjust to her surroundings and remember she wasn't in Kansas any longer. She listened and could hear the faint drone of conversation coming from the floor below her.

She got up from the bed and walked to the light, with her hand she felt along the door's contours until she come in contact with the knob. She turned it quietly and gave it a pull. The door wouldn't budge. It was locked. Beginning to feel the first apprehension of panic, she reached overhead and walked her fingers along the doorframe until she found a key. Quickly, she tried the lock and with one little turn the tumblers clicked and the door opened.

She had no way of judging the time of night, but she knew it must be late for the house was quiet except for the voices coming from the lower level. She crept from the room and sidled down the back stairs into the kitchen. She was starving and hoped she could locate something to eat figuring Macy must have found her asleep or had forgotten about her altogether. The kitchen was lit by a low burning lamp, providing enough light to see a half dozen hard rolls protected by a glass cover, she lifted the lid and took one and placed it in her pocket and grabbed another for immediate consumption.

She was thirsty and could have used a stiff drink and recalled she'd packed a small bottle of sipping brandy in her carpetbag. So much for sustenance she thought as she made her way back to the stairs. She had no wish to be discovered for she had figured out she was not a guest of the landowner but of his servants. Had she been less tired she might of pursued this thought. She turned to head back to her room secure in the knowledge she possessed the key to her confinement. Her foot was on the first step of the back stairs when the conversation seeping through the kitchen door grabbed her attention.

"Matt Dillon." She stopped cold in her tracks and turned to the swinging doors which lead to the main part of the home. She took the roll from her mouth, stopped chewing and listened, "One way or another we need to get our hands on Matt Dillon, he knows too much, if he is hurt and that knowledge gets in the wrong hands it could do more than ruin our plans, it could ruin our lives."

"I don't think that's going to happen, General Johnston. From what Captain Barger told me, they left him in a field. He was badly hurt, bleeding heavily, most likely he died that night sir."

Cold panicked sweat spilled from her pores. Her heart raced and her mind refused to believe the words she heard. She leaned in closer desperate for some word of hope. She was listening so intently she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. She jumped with a start, dropping the roll at the touch on her shoulder and the voice whispering, "Honey?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Marcy kept her voice low but urgent, "Honey chile, how'd you git outa your room? I dun locked the door on you. You jus hurry on up them stairs now, it wouldn't do us no good to have Massa Johnston find you in his kitchen. Hurry on now, I'll be up directly with something warm to fill your belly."

"But …"

"No buts, you just go on and do like I tells you."

Still, she hesitated but Macy gave her a push in the direction of the stairs. "I is coming too, just as soon as I get some porky puddy pie warmed up fer you."

Like a caged animal, she paced the room her body pulsing with the fuel of anxious energy. It seemed to take forever for Macy to come up the stairs. She knocked softly at the door, and Kitty let her in. The maid set the tray on the bed and motioned for Kitty to start eating. Shaking her head and hardening her eyes, she refused, "Uh uhhhh, I want some answers first. I've been mighty patient with all this foolishness." She shook her head reflecting, "A man I've never met before, pulls a gun on me in my own room, and says Matt Dillon needs me, well I've traveled half way across the country by every means imaginable. I've lost track of how long I've been gone. I've been shaken and soaked, half starved and locked in this tiny cell of a room, and now, I want some answers and if I don't get them, I'm gonna start screaming and I don't think you want that do you Miss Macy?"

Macy smiled, "They dun told us you weren't no parlor style of Kittycat and they was right. But you just settle down some, and I'll give you answers, at least what I knows about. Tomorrow night, a gent'man named Mr. Homer Wilcox is gonna fetch you. You is gonna ride up to Davis Port, that's halfway twixt here and Washington, DC. Once you is there, he gonna take you to see the man you dun traveled all this way to meet. You is right about one thing, it wouldn't do us no good ifn' Massa Johnston was to find out you is here. And if'n he does, if you knows what's good fer you and what's good for that man of yours, you best keep your mouth shut. You hear?"

Kitty nodded, "You've left me with more questions than when I started. But if you're saying Matt is alive and I'll see him soon, well, that's good enough for now. I'm curious, what am I supposed to do until tomorrow night?"

"Well for starters you can finish up that pork puddy I dun brung up fer you , and then get some mo' sleep. And tomorrow we is gonna get you cleaned up. Girl, you ain't had a good bath in a long while, has you?"

**GS GS GS GS GS**

She slept till mid morning the next day; she had suspected Macy had doctored up her pork puddy pie, for she had taken less than half the bowl when a wave of grogginess washed over her.

Macy must have timed her cooking well, because Kitty had no sooner opened her eyes and stretched, when there was a knock on her door followed by the sound of a key in the lock.

"Well, you is looking some better honey. I gots a tub of water waiting for you down the hall. If you is quick about it no one'll bother you."

The bathroom was finer than any Kitty had ever seen. The huge claw footed tub was porcelain, and the fixtures shiny brass. The floor was laid in large black and white Italian tiles and from the elegant hand painted china holders hung lavishly thick Turkish towels in snowy white and decorated by an elaborately embroidered "J". It was a shame she couldn't enjoy the luxury, but Macy's warning that she might be discovered hastened her pleasure. Still, she felt considerably better after the experience.

"I dun washed your clothes, even them that was in your carpet bag honey, you been through some mean dirt to get here, ain't you?"

Her clothing would never dry by the evening, "What am I supposed to wear'?" Kitty asked in distress.

"I got some of Mrs. Johnston's clothes down from the attic for you. They was last years, and I don't reckon she'll miss 'em none." Macy caught the alarm in Kitty's eyes, "She's down in Charleston honey, visiting her sister, won't be back for a long spell." With Macy's help, Kitty looked over the gowns from Mrs. Johnston's last year's wardrobe. The length was fine, but the waistline was a little too generous and Kitty's bosom too robust for the clothing's proportions. "We is gonna have to bind you in some to get them dresses lookin' proper. Mr. Homer Wilcox says he wants you looking like a fine lady. I'll pack a sewing basket. You do knows how to use a needle and thread, doncha chil'?"

"I can take in and let out, sew hems, and tack on bric-brac and buttons."

"You'll do fine then."

By nightfall, she was dressed in a dove gray wool gown with pearl buttons down the bodice and Irish lace trimming the cuffs and neckline. It was as proper a gown as Kitty had ever worn. She had a wool tapestry shawl in shades of blue and purple draped around her shoulders. Her red hair was slicked back and wrapped in a silk latticed chignon, and on her head she wore a small gray bonnet decorated with a jaunty mauve colored plume, fine gray netting hid her eyes. The only things she could claim as her own were the small diamond studs in her ears; a gift her favorite admirer had paid dearly for.

She was excited at the prospect of seeing Matt; she must be very close now. She couldn't help but wonder why she had to look so proper and a nervous feeling she was being made an unwilling partner to this charade prevailed. Jojoba led her out the back door just as the first stars were popping in the early twilight. They walked down a path, which took them away from the main gate.

"Watch your step there Missy, we don't wants you fallin' in the rose bushes and getting yourself all scratched and scuffed afore Mistah Wilcox sees you." They came to a smaller gate on the property about two hundred yards down from the main entrance. Jojoba took a key from his pocket and opened it up. "I gots to be getting back. Massa likes me to be right by him all de time, if'n I ain't he gets a might aggravated. We don't wants Massa getting aggravated."

"Wait a second." She hissed. "You're not just leaving me out here?"

"No'm, I ain't. Mr Wilcox will be along directly." He set down Mrs. Johnston's two large carpetbags, filled with a small wardrobe of fine clothes.

"But …" She sputtered.

Having lost patience with her, Jojoba locked the gate between them, "You jus quit your fussing and wait nice like. You is s'posed to be a proper lady."

She was alone again, there was a chill in the air and she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders a little tighter. Leaning against the wrought iron fence she crossed her arms over her bound bosom and waited, tapping her foot in frustration and wondering what she was going to do if Mr. Wilcox failed to show, and what she was going to do if he did.

For whatever reason, the timing between the participants of this elaborate web Kitty had been drawn into had impeccable timing. For she'd no sooner felt the first waves of trepidation, when a carriage came down the road. The coachman, wearing a dark jacket with brass buttons stopped in front of her. Applying the break, he jumped from his seat. With a flourish, he opened the door and motioned her inside. He loaded her baggage in the boot while she settled herself in. It was only after the door closed that she realized she wasn't alone.

A flick of a match lit the face of the man seated opposite her; she jumped and then quickly regained her composure. "Mr. Wilcox, I presume." By the brief light of his matchstick she could make out the features of her companion. Indeed he was one of the men who had talked with Matt back in Dodge.

"I hope you don't mind if I smoke." He said as he applied the match to the tip of a cigar and took a few hard drags on it before continuing. "Miss Russell, I apologize for what we've put you through this past week."

"Mister, I've been through hell for the past six months, and It's gonna need more than fancy words to make up for that. Where's Matt Dillon?"

He chuckled, I'm getting to that, but first, I think you should be aware the path we're on could lead to danger. If you feel you'd rather not be a part of this, I can fully understand. I'll take you to the train station and buy you the ticket home to Dodge City or wherever you prefer to go."

"Where I want to go is where Matt Dillon is."

His words reflected a smile. "I figured you'd see it like that Ma'am. We're traveling to Saint Vincent's County Asylum for the Mentally Insane. Not a pretty place, I hasten to add. Dillon's been a patient there for nearly a month."

For a moment she couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. "Matt … insane asylum? I don't understand?"


	5. Chapter 5

Five

The man leaned forward; with a patient voice, he said, "Perhaps I should start at the beginning, at least for our purposes, the beginning. As you know, my name is Wilcox, Homer Wilcox. Matt Dillon served under my command in the Third Texas Infantry. One, I might add of only a handful of units to serve the Union war effort from the grand and glorious State of Texas. I became well acquainted with Matt's gallantry and honor during those years. In the time since, I can say without doubt, I've not met a better man." He settled back in his seat and took a puff on his cigar before continuing. "At the direction of President Lincoln, a branch of the U.S. Federal Marshal's Service was formed to deal with the counterfeiting of currency."

None of this was making any sense to Kitty, "What does that have to do with Matt Dillon?" She wanted to know.

"Shortly after the war, and in response to President Lincoln's assassination, a new highly confidential division was created to safe guard the president, as well as the top security interests, of the United States Government. I am a top ranking officer of that secret service. Approximately a year ago our operatives became aware of a covert organization, headquartered near the Richmond area. The "Band of Brothers' as they call themselves, primary goal is to overthrow the government by means of removing President Grant from office … permanently."

She leaned forward, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying they want to kill the President."

"But if you know of them, who they are, where they are, you should be able to stop them."

"Stop them, yes, for a time, but this is like a noxious weed, it won't do any good in the long run to pluck off the head, we need to destroy the root."

"And that's where Matt came in …"

"Exactly, he's been working undercover for us. He infiltrated Barger's gang, we've long know Captain Barger was working for the Band of Brothers. He even named his gang after the operation, the Barger Brothers. Their spoils go to supporting the 'cause'. Although, a fair share of it ends up in the hands of General Johnston and his cohorts. With the cooperation of our agency and a handful of lawmen we felt we could trust, Matt became an integral part of Barger's outfit. Various locations were planned, staged as it were, and plotted so that it would look like Dillon was as ruthless as any of the 'Brothers' it was an elaborate scheme on our part, one that may have been successful, had not one unknowing deputy shot at Matt with a live round of ammunition. We knew he'd been wounded, but were powerless to help him. We presumed him dead. That is until he turned up at St. Vincent's . It seems he'd been found half dead in a field about forty miles South East of here."

"Why did they bring him to an insane asylum?"

"A county facility is all that would take him, he had no money and no one to claim him. Miss Russell … I must prepare you. He suffered severe trauma to his head, he has lost his memory … his mind. Our sources say he is little better than an animal, the man you knew as Matt Dillon no longer exists."

"Why … why didn't you or one of your men get him out of there?"

"Because my dear, it would put our operation at risk. We don't believe Barger is aware of Dillon's whereabouts. If he were, he'd have gotten him out of there or made damn sure Matt would never talk again, should his mind and memory return. If they were to identify any of our people trying to help Matt it could ruin the whole operation. That is a chance I'm not willing to risk, there's too much at stake here."

Sitting stiffly, she folded her arms across her chest, "And I'm to take Matt home to Dodge, his reputation ruined, his mind gone?"

"No Miss Russell, our medical sources have informed us there is a chance, in the right setting, Matt will recover his faculties. We're counting on you to bring him back to health, full health."

"And if I do bring him back to, as you say, full health, you'll go on using Matt?"

"He has always been aware of the risks involved."

"This is crazy. You're willing to sacrifice, what was it you said of him? A man of gallantry and honor."

"We're fighting to preserve the Union as much now, as we were six years ago. If you care about Matt Dillon as much as I think you do, certainly, you will understand how important that is to him."

"Mr. Wilcox, I was born in Louisiana. I am a proud Southern woman."

"I'm aware of that, I'm also aware of your upbringing and the nature of your profession."

She sucked in air at the implication of his words and he amended his tone, "What I mean, Ma'am, you're not some hot house flower, and can certainly understand this country can not be divided again and have either half survive."

She nodded and even in the darkened carriage, he could see the righting of her shoulders and the lift of her chin. "What is it you want me to do?"

He pulled a silver flask from the inside lining of his suit coat, unscrewing the lid, he handed it across the aisle to her. She took a long drink, and returned it to him. He followed suite before replacing the cap and tucking the flask back in his inside pocket.

"We will arrive at Davis Port near sunup, we'll drop you at the depot, leaving the impression you have been a passenger on the train, you will take a cab to St. Vincent's, proceed to the Administrator's office and claim to be Kathleen Kent, widowed sister-in-law to Matthew Kent, of Wethersfield, Georgia. Producing that photograph we know you carry with you, you will tell him that Matt has been missing for some time, you have been searching institutions along the coast line in hopes of finding some evidence of his whereabouts. At which time, we presume, you will be taken to Matt, he will be released to your care. There is a small cottage on the edge of town, which we have secured for you. We've supplied it with provisions; I believe you will find the accommodations adequate and conducive to nursing Matt back to health. The physicians we've consulted urge you to let his mind come back on its own accord. Do not try to force his memory with your own recollections."

Opening a small leather case sitting by his side, he removed an envelope and handed it to her. "Inside you will find five hundred dollars, a key to the residence as well as the address and directions, most importantly you will find information regarding your identities. Familiarize yourself with the dossier, and then destroy the material. We will be in contact with you, our people will be keeping a watch over the place but there is still grave danger involved, for if Barger's men do find Matt's whereabouts, and if they suspect he has been working with us …" His voice trailed off leaving the desperate nature of the mission to her own speculation. "Trust no one; keep your eyes and ears open."

"I understand."

"Good, I suggest you rest now Ma'am, morning will come all too soon and you will need your wits about you."

She leaned forward again, "One more question Mr. Wilcox, and then I'll take your advice. Why, if General Johnston is the enemy did you have me spend the night in his home?"

Wilcox chuckled, "When I was a boy, we had an old hound dog, which we kept tied in the back yard. I remember clearly, a rabbit would make her home just beyond the reach of the dog's rope. It struck me how wise that creature was. For, the dog couldn't reach her, but his bark would certainly scare off any predators."

She waited a beat for him to continue and when he didn't she said, "That is not an answer."

"My dear, that is all the answer I am prepared to give."


	6. Chapter 6

**six**

At the depot, Kitty hired a porter to carry her bags. She took the first hansom cab she came to. The driver was an unlikable sort. Kitty kept her conversation short. "Do you know how to get to St. Vincent's?"

"The loony bin?" He questioned with a nasty chortle. "Why sure, though don't get much request to go there, most folks heading to St. Vincent's don't have the money to pay for a cab." He gave her a second perusal, before deciding she was good for the fare. "Past the poor farm, the county dump and just before you get to the pauper graveyard."

"Good." She replied trying to stifle her imagination at the visions his directions implied.

The carriage was ill kept and dirty, any suspension system to guarantee a smooth ride had long since given way. Her hands gripped the seat to keep from bouncing off. Had she anything in her stomach that morning, she would certainly have lost it before arriving at her destination. She could tell, without looking out the window, when they passed the dump, and was again thankful for her empty stomach."

They stopped in front of a stark three-story, red stone structure, void of any Victorian ornamentation. Two side wings jutted forward while the main entrance was housed between them. The windows, like those in a jailhouse, had bars on them. A long overgrown walk-way led to the main door. The skies were gray, making St Vincent's appear all the more ominous. She fought for courage, and told the driver to wait for her at the front gates. "I'll pay you for your time." She assured him.

She rang a bell at the double door entrance and a callous looking guard let her in, she could feel the leer of his eyes as his gaze charred a trail across her figure. "I'd like to speak with the Administrator please."

His mouth opened in some fashion of a grin, revealing yellowed teeth, caked with scum and decay. "You one of them Ladies Aide women, aiming to make St. Vincent's your next charity? We had your kind before' most don't have the stomach for a second visit."

She gave him no reply. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, "suit yourself lady." He opened the front door for her, and pointed down a dark corridor, "First door on the right, Mr. Harris is his name."

He let the door slam behind her. For a moment she remained motionless letting her eyes become accustomed to the dim light. The place reeked with the smell of feces, vomit and stale body odor' tenfold the stench from the county dump - even her empty stomach threatened revolt. From down the hall she could detect the smell of boiled fish and putrid refuse. The floor was so filthy she lifted her skirts to keep them from being soiled by contact with it, as she walked down the corridor. She knocked on the office with the back of her hand, and used her hanky to cover the knob when the voice inside hollered, "Whatdoyawant?"

A heavy set man of middle years was seated behind a battered mahogany desk, a large window was opened and fresh air made the atmosphere breathable, although he seemed bent on polluting it with a cheap cigar. Unlike the rest of the building she'd come in contact with, this space held some semblance of cleanliness.

He raised his head to squint at her, "What can I do for you lady?He asked, not rising to his feet, or offering to extinguish his cigar. "Don't tell me you want to be offering your services as a nurse or maybe a scullery maid?"

Remembering Wilcox's directive regarding her assumed identity, she adjusted her backbone and began, "No sir, I'm looking for my brother-in-law. He's been missing for months, and I've been led to believe he might be a resident here." She opened her reticule and removed the photograph of Matt Dillon, which had been taken on their last visit to St Louis. She held it out for Mr. Harris to see, "This is he."

Harris looked from the picture to Kitty, letting his eyes travel down her trim figure, taking note of the expensive clothing, "Could be he's here, I can't rightly remember" His eyes glared pointedly at her handbag. Catching the implication, she withdrew a gold coin and tossed on his desk. "Sir, I suggest you remember and remember now. I've traveled a long way and my patience has reached its limit. The name is Kathleen Kent, of Wethersfield, Georgia and my family will not look kindly should any harm come to either Matthew or myself."

He snorted at her boldness, "Matthew's his name, eh? Yeah, he's here, blithering idiot, can't put two words together, can't tell his name, just sits and stares. You can take him off our hands and we'll be grateful for it lady."

Her smile at finding him was as honest as her concern, "Has he been under the care of a physician?"

This time Harris laughed out loud, "He's been under the care of the 'ten-day girls' that be all the County's willing to put out for the likes of them residing here."

"Ten-day girls?" The term was foreign to her.

"Yeah. Drunks and prostitutes, they pluck 'em off the street and send'em to the county work farm, the one what ain't strong enough to work the field gets sent here, to care for the inmates, them what can't care for themselves. They work off a ten-day sentence."

Pocketing the gold piece, he pushed himself out of his chair, "Come with me." he ordered and he walked from his office to the filthy corridor. She had to run to keep up with him.

At the end of the hall were double doors with barred windows; the glass was so filthy it was no longer transparent. Harris took a key from the ring on his belt and unlocked the room. Before pushing it open, he explained, "We house eighteen inmates in here, most of 'em will never know the true light of day again, some lost their mind in the war, others in the hell afterwards." He chuckled snidely, "Still others never had it to begin with. Four ten-day girls take car of the lot, the County don't give us much by way of supplies, but they don't ask no questions either. Your brother is one of the lucky ones, at least until tomorrow, Lilly's watching over him."

Why until tomorrow?" She asked.

"Lilly goes back on the street, she served her time." He gave the door a push. Muffled sounds became instantly loud and clear as did the stench. She gagged and swallowed back bile. Grabbing her hanky she placed it over her nose and stared out over the broad expanse of the ward. On either side were iron cots, some topped with mattresses and filthy covers others just grimy wooden planks. Many of the patients lay unmoving, eyes fixed to the ceiling in a catatonic stare.

Others were shackled to the iron framework of their cots; they made sounds, like an animal caught in a trap as she passed by them. With a sideward glace she saw their soiled clothing and filthy bodies; their faces distorted by idiotic smiles or pained grimaces. Begging hands reached out to her. A shiver traveled her spine. As anxious as she was to see Matt, she said a silent prayer that she wouldn't find him here after all.

The 'ten-day-girls' went about their work, looking little better than the patients they were sentenced to tend.

"Lilly." Harris summoned, "Got a gal here, she says one of your fellas is her brother."

Lilly, was a pale woman with hair the color of dirty dishwater and just as greasy. She could have been as young as her teens or older than Kitty it was hard to tell. She was thin, with gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes. She made her way over to Harris and Kitty, dragging her left leg as she moved. She viewed Kitty as royalty and made a small clumsy curtsy in her presence.

"Ma'am?"

Despite her worry about Matt, Kitty's smile was cordial, " Hello Lilly, I'm looking for my brother-in-law." She held out the photograph of Matt. Lilly didn't take it, but only leaned closer for a better look. She turned back to Kitty with a smile, which revealed a chipped front tooth.

"Abe, that's what I calls him, 'cause he don't know no better, and I gots ta call him somethin'. I give a name to all my fellas."

"Abe?" Kitty questioned.

"He's a tall bony man, got a beard, kinda reminds me of ol' honest Abe." She motioned with her hand. "I gots him sittin' over here. He seems ta like lookin' ovt the window." She led the way to a small alcove off the ward where several patients were sitting.

Her voice became slightly boastful, "he was right sick when I come on, he'd been here for a spell already, had a couple bullet holes in him. It didn't look to me like he was gonna make it, took all my tendin' to bring him around."

Although, there was no need, Lilly pointed Matt out, as Kitty entered the small room. He was in a straight chair facing the window, his back was to her, but even from that advantage, she could see he'd lost a great deal of weight. She fought the desire to throw herself at him. Despite the stench, she inhaled composure. Quickly, she moved forward and knelt to one knee in front of him. He didn't take notice of her, even when she grasped his hand in her own.

"Matt." She breathed, "It's me, Kitty, I've come to take you … to take you out of here." Dillon made no move, showed no sign of recognition, only continued to stare. She squeezed his hand and searched his face.

Lilly stepped forward, this time her voice was apologetic, "He don't know you're here Missy, fact is, he don't know he's here."

"Has he been drugged?" She wondered out loud.

"No'm, most of them fellas has, but no need to with this one, not yet anyways." She pulled on his arm. "Come on there Abe, this nice lady wants to take you outa here." Matt slowly got up from the chair. To Kitty, Lilly said, "'Fraid he don't have no shoes, didn't have none when they brung him in, so I'm told … no need for shoes here … he's clean though. I dun kerosined him this morning, so he ain't got no extree vermin a livin' offa him - leastways not fer today. He can tend to his body needs and feed hisself, woun't win no prizes in good manners, ain't no good with a spoon, and we don't got no knifes here. he got two bullet holes in his back, one real bad one to his shoulder that still needs mindin', the one on his head is healed up, leastways on the outside it is." Matt was standing and Lilly took his hand to lead him away.

"He doesn't talk?" Kitty asked.

A soft look came over Lilly's face, she glanced toward Harris who hadn't moved into the alcove but was standing, glaring out the dirty window in the main ward as if the sight behind him was too much for his eyes to tolerate. "Once, when I first come here, he was so sick, feverish, he was … he touched my face and said, 'prit -tee. Not like a growed man, but like a little boy … I ain't never been called pretty afore … I knowed then he must be crazy in the head to say that to me."

With a slight of hand she'd learned at her mother's knee, Kitty reached into her handbag and pulled out a gold piece. She didn't know how to repay the woman for the kindness she'd shown Matt. Reaching out to shake Lilly's hand, she left the coin in her wake.

"Thankee Ma'am." Lilly whispered before placing Matt's hand in Kitty's.

Thank you Lilly, and good luck to you."

Harris turned to Kitty, his voice rough, "I ain't got all day lady. You ready, I got things to be tending to?"

She had both hands wrapped firmly around Matt's. "Yes." She replied. They walked back down the ward corridor, Matt moving slowly and stiffly. This time Kitty wasn't worried about her skirts touching the dirty floor, her only concern was for the man beside her, "Everything will be alright, once we get you out of here, you'll see." She whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

Harris escorted them to the door, and ordered the guard to let them out the gate. The hansom cab was waiting. The driver gave Matt a scornful look, "He better not be infesting my carriage with no lice and such. I carries around respectable folks in this here buggy."

Kitty ignored the driver's rudeness and looked to Matt hopefully. The niceties she'd come to expect over the years, were missing; there was no helping hand into the carriage. He stood like a voodoo zombie, staring straight ahead, his expression void of character or intelligence. She climbed in and waited for him to follow, when he didn't she reached out and grabbed his hand, "Come on." she encouraged, "It's alright, get in." She amended her line of thought, the least of things missing were the niceties. He looked at her, and their eyes made brief contact. For that fraction of a second, she thought she saw an emotion cross his features. She tried to put a tag on it, "bewilderment, fear, pain..." She couldn't be sure of its identity or even its existence for it was as ephemeral as the trail of a falling star.

A part of her had been certain, from the moment she'd stepped into the asylum that this was all some sort of ruse, part of Wilcox's elaborate scheme. Matt's mind was perfectly in tact, how could it be otherwise, but now, with sudden and absolute clarity she understood he was less than a child in an adult's body. There was little left of the man she'd known and loved except for a poor imitation of the original shell. Her voice was gentle, "Come on, it's alright, climb in."

The driver was watching mean eyed, "Don't like it, don't like it one bit," he muttered in a disagreeable voice. "Don't like driving around no rejects from the loony farm, they're apt to stab you in the back as look at you. Don't like it one bit."

"You hush up there." Kitty scolded, she patted the seat next to her and Matt sat down. The carriage started with a jerk, catching him off guard and he made a distressed sound from deep in his throat. She grabbed for his hand and squeezed it tight, "it's alright. I'm here with you now, Kitty's here with you now."

The carriage made its way along cobblestone streets lined with large framed homes decorated in elaborate gingerbread and stained glass -through the business district where factories spouted darkened steam into the gray October sky. They rolled past smaller brick homes planted close together with tiny front yards and youngsters playing stickball in the street. Until eventually they turned down a back road, paved only by hard packed clay. The houses were father apart here, smaller framed cottages, encircled by white picket fences, their gardens still holding the last of the summer's harvest of vegetables and flowers. In this neighborhood the back yards stretched the distance to a picturesque river that meandered in concordance with the road. It was in front of one such house that the carriage stopped. "Here you be lady, 1212 Lincoln. You owe me two bits."

She paid him the fare and he unloaded her baggage placing it aside the road. He made no effort to carry the carpetbags to the house for her and she decided against asking him. Leaving the bags she grabbed Matt's hand and pulled him along with her to the porch where she sat him on the swing. "You stay; I'm just going to fetch my things."

She saw his blank face clouded by the vague expression again. "I'll be right back." She promised patting his hand. She hurried through the gate to the street, the bags were heavy and she had to make two trips.

Fishing though her handbag she located the key Mr. Wilcox had given her, she fumbled with it, and for a moment she feared the door wouldn't open, but finally it gave way. "Well let's see our new house." The irony of her words didn't' hit her until later when she realized the scenario she'd dreamed of had taken a cruel turn.

Though small, the home looked comfortable. Divided into two halves, one side housed parlor, dining room and kitchen while the other consisted of a pair of bedrooms separated by a washroom. She led him through the house until they reached the kitchen. "I expect you're tired, you've had a big day and it's not even half over with. You sit here; I'll be right back I just want to put my bags away." She was gone only minutes, but when she came back he was asleep, his head resting on the table, cradled in his arms. She stared at him then, taking inventory of the changes. His hair was long and unruly looking as though someone had used a scissors to it, at some point, in an attempt to get it under control. A month or more worth of beard covered his face. His powerful shoulder and bicep muscles had atrophied to some extent making him look fragile in comparison to the man he'd been. The clothes they'd provide him with were standard issue for a ward of a county institution. Made of coarse cotton they consisted of a crude shirt and draw stringed britches, both too short for his long limbs.

"Oh Matt," she sighed, "Where do we start? How do I get you back?"

**GS GS GS **

Her thoughts were scattered, and she sat down at the table across from him to try and organize them. Kitty had always been a woman of detail and order. Despite her tendency to rush head long into a situation she generally lived by her intellect not her intuition; their own personal history had dictated when both those failed she lived in trust that Matt Dillon would always be on hand to save the day. Now it was his survival, which rested in her hands, and she felt ill equipped to deal with the situation.

She reached out a hand to brush the wayward hair from his forehead. He felt warm to the touch as though he had the beginnings of a fever. She wished for Doc's counsel, and tried to imagine what the old man's level headed advise might be. His wounds would need tending. Good food in his belly and plenty of rest were also essential to the healing process. She reckoned, if his mind needed healing this common sense prescription would work there as well. This was the more difficult of her task in bringing him back to health. She'd had enough experience tending to gunshot wounds, and fevers to understand the treatment, but how did one set about retrieving a lost mind? Where did she go to find it? She realized patience, never one of her strong suites, would be her immediate ally. If his mind was indeed that of a young child, then that is how she would treat him, kindly, firmly, and lovingly.

Wilcox had hinted the cottage would be supplied for their immediate needs. She rose from the table and took stock of the kitchen. It was a bright, cheerful room, its walls painted yellow, and the cupboards white. Off to the side, a back door led to a screened porch with an excellent view of the river. The view drew her into the outdoor room for a closer look. The sun had come out. The fall colors were just beginning to show autumn's hue, on the trees along the water's edge. She noted the homes on the other side of the river were grander than the cottages along Lincoln Avenue – summer homes to the wealthy she surmised. This would be a pleasant spot to relax, for a large white wicker sofa sat against the wall looking toward the water.

Back in the kitchen she studied the stove; it was small but modern, a pile of wood sat next to it along with kindling for starters. There was an icebox near the cupboard, and a small pantry off the kitchen. She checked these out and found them both full, seeing the food brought rise to the fact she was hungry. She hadn't had anything in her stomach since the previous day. Hastily she located a frying pan and lit the stove.

She had to wake him to eat, a situation that struck her as unusual and presented itself as just another indication of how many things had changed. Not giving thought to Lilly's advice regarding his eating habits, she'd fried eggs leaving the yolk soft just the way he'd always liked them. She'd placed the plate in front of him and rubbed his shoulder hoping to gently rouse him. But, he awoke with a start, "Here you go," she soothed, "I bet you're hungry." For a long moment he stared at the food. "Go ahead," she prompted, "Don't wait for me, mine is still frying, no sense your food getting cold." Still he remained motionless, "you must be hungry," she encouraged.

His hand made an awkward move and landed in the middle of the oozing yolk before he brought it to his face, some of the egg landed in his mouth, but most was smeared over his cheeks and whiskers. She bit at her lip before removing the frying pan from the fire and taking the seat next to him. "That's okay, I'll help you." She took his hand and wiped it with her apron. "I expect everything seems mighty confusing right now, but I'm here and I'm going to take good care of you. You'll see pretty soon things will start making sense again."

She picked up his fork and began feeding him, encouraging him with her smile and tender voice. He ate well, and it was clear to her there were at least traces of his old hearty appetite. Afterward she washed him up. Lilly had said he could take care of his body functions and she figured this was a good time to give him a tour of the house. They walked slowly from room to room and as they did she made small conversation, pointing things out to him, at the water closet, she encouraged him to relieve himself. She considered it a small success when he did.

Afterward she took him out to the screened porch where they sat side by side on the wicker sofa. She so badly wanted to bring up memories of their life before, their life together, but mindful of Mr. Wilcox's warning, she kept her conversation on the present. Most of it was little more than thinking out loud.

"We need to get you some clothes and shoes Cowboy; then we'll take nice walks together. Fresh air and sunshine will help you get your strength back. I bet there's some good fishing in that river. I'll have to take a look after while and see if I can rustle us up some fishing poles. Nothing like an afternoon of fishing to take your mind off your troubles." She felt him sagging against her. He was asleep again. She reached for his hand and enfolded it in her own, as she closed her eyes as well. She was glad for the moment and thankful to be back by his side.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

She'd caught him looking at her several times that first afternoon, but when she'd returned his look to complete the connection, a blank shadow fell over his eyes, as though he were drawing a shield between them.

For the most part he did as she requested of him, as long as it was within his very limited sphere of understanding. Even though she feared he didn't comprehend her words, she made a point of talking to him. She took him with her when she explored the cottage garden, and harvested a small basket of vegetables for their evening supper. She sat him down on the sun porch and showed him how to snap beans. His once nimble hands were clumsy, and seemed not entirely linked to his mind but he performed the task after some fashion and she praised his efforts.

Back in the house she handed him the dinner plates and asked him to set the table. He'd held them uncertainly until she took hold of his hands and guided them to the table. "See," she told him with a lighthearted voice, "There are two plates at the table, one for Matt and one for Kitty, and just as soon as I have this meat fried up we'll sit down to eat." Eating was the challenge, there was no way he could successfully maneuver his eating utensils and if truth be told she was too tired to put up a fight for propriety. With a sigh she set down her own fork and knife and picked up the meat with her fingers. "Ummm good." She told him. After a moment's hesitation he took the food in his hands and brought it to his mouth. It was a messy proposition on both their parts and Kitty could only imagine the comments of their friends back in Dodge should they be witness to such a spectacle. The idea brought a smile to her face, one that the man beside her noticed and tried unsuccessfully to emulate.

**GS GS GS GS GS **

The path down to the river was well worn; the soil ground to a fine loam, which she knew, would be soft to his shoeless feet. When they had finished their supper she took him back outside. They walked hand in hand to the water's edge and sat down under a clump of golden leaved birch trees. There were several rowboats out on the river, enjoying the last warm days before the chill of winter set in. One boat came near enough for its passenger to call `hello.'

The occupant was wearing casual though expensive clothing, what one would expect from an aristocrat. Tailored fawn colored britches, a fitted shirt, Scottish tweed jacket and over the calf riding boots completed his look. His age she supposed was close to Matt's, somewhere in his early thirties. He bore extraordinary good looks, the kind, which made most women swoon. He waved at them, "Nice weather." He commented in greeting.

"Any luck tonight?" She asked in reply.

"I've caught a few- most too small to keep." He answered, "You just move in?"

"Yes, today."

The man took a long study of Matt's unusual attire, "Not from around here?" he asked.

Very nearly she replied Kansas, but she remembered Mr. Wilcox's dossier regarding their background. "We're from Wethersfield, Georgia; we'll be going home as soon as my brother has rested some. He's been quite ill."

He rowed a little closer, before standing up precariously in the wobbly rowboat, with a bow he said, "Permit me to introduce myself madam, I'm Beaumont T. Davis. I live in the white framed cottage across the river from you, if I or my family can be of any service to you during your stay; please feel free to call upon us."

She shaded her eyes to study the `cottage' he'd referred to; it was no more a cottage than the house she was staying in a castle. It was possibly the largest home Kitty had ever seen. It was three full stories, with a veranda, which seemed to wrap the house like the ribbon on a Christmas present. It sat back from the water some sixty feet, with manicured lawns and carefully plotted flowerbeds. Off to either side of the property were a pair of boathouses, each trimmed with gingerbread and topped by matching copulas.

"We thank you for your kindness, my brother is Matthew and I am Kathleen Kent."

"Miss Kathleen, might I be so bold as to declare, Georgia's loss is Davis Port's gain?"

For what ever reason Wilcox had deemed it necessary, she realized she must play her part to the fullest extent of her abilities, "I thank you sir. It appears a most pleasant community. Now, if you will excuse us, I must get Matthew inside, in his delicate health it would not be advisable for him to take a chill."

Beaumont T. Davis bowed again, and his rowboat tipped unsteadily in the water. It looked to Kitty like the visitor was in danger of landing in the river. But the young man of breeding never lost his poise, and said with gallantry, even as he fought for his balance, "I'll look forward to meeting you again before you depart from our lovely community."

**GS GS GS GS **

Kitty helped Matt wash up for the night, and saw to his healing wounds. The small cottage was moonlight and shadows when she finally saw him to his room. "It's time for sleep." She said keeping her voice even and as soothing as possible. Placing a candle on the bedside table, she pulled down the covers, and watched as he climbed in, "There" she said, "Now close your eyes and sleep. Tomorrow is a new day."

But he didn't close his eyes; in fact more than any time that day his gaze was locked on her. She moved a chair closer to his bedside and sat down. The urge to talk about their history was strong and she had to fight it. He wanted her there, needed her there and knowing that added strength to her reserve. She saw a small stack of books on the table and she picked up the first one on the pile.

It was old, a musty smell emanated from its yellowed pages and leather bindings. In fancy print, it identified the volume as the "Collective Works of Richard Lovelace." She leaned into the candle for light, to read the passages by. The poems were written in Old English verse. The cadence of the rhythmic beat and the unfamiliar variations to the common words made it awkward to read the stanzas at first, but slowly she became comfortable with the lyrics. She read several selections before she came to the one entitled, "TO LUCASTA, Going to the Wars."

_Tell me not sweet, I am unkind,_

_That from the nunnery_

_Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind._

_To war and Armies I fly._

_True, a new Mistress now I chase,_

_The first foe in the field,_

_And with a stronger Faith embrace,_

_A sword, a horse, a shield._

_Yet this inconstancy is such,_

_As you too shall adore,_

_I could not love thee dear so much,_

_Loved I not honor more._

She repeated the last line, slowly letting the meaning hit home, "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more." Her hand worked its way to her pocket in which rested his badge. Her fingers rubbed across the smooth surface of the tin star, "_Loved I not honor more_." She closed her eyes to stop the tears and breathed slowly and deeply willing her emotions to remain in check.

When she opened her eyes she saw his were closed and the rise and fall of his chest indicated he had fallen into sleep and was at peace. She stood; placing the book back on the pile she took the candle. She gave him one last look before leaving the room. "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more." The words were trapped in her thoughts, bringing a sudden clarity to her relationship with Matt Dillon. It was no discredit to her she realized that duty and the badge were his first love. It was simply the price of honor.

**GS GS GS GS**

Sitting at the kitchen table, she turned her attention to the dossier, which contained the history Wilcox wanted her to regard as her own. She studied the details one last time, memorizing it much the way she had seen Matt memorize the letters she'd watched him burn back in Dodge. As he had done, so did she, lifting the grate on the cook stove, she placed the papers inside and watched as they caught fire, blazed and dissolved to ashes.

**GS GS GS GS **

The only reality Matt Dillon had been aware of was St. Vincent's. The smells and the noises, as horrid as they were to Kitty's senses had a comfort in them, because they represented normalcy. He remembered nothing of the clean earthy smell of the prairie after the spring's first rain, or the sound of the meadow birds at daybreak. The touch of a friend's hand, a smile, a kind word, were all as foreign to him, as if he'd been born on the moon. For, in fact as far as he was concerned, his life had begun in a deserted field, forty miles from St Vincent's and the pain of his birth, had been marked by the two bullet holes he carried. Having been taken from what he knew, and placed in this alien environment, brought feelings of fear and only served to add to his bewilderment.

After Kitty had left the room he'd awakened with a start, in the strange comfort of a clean soft bed, he lay awake and tried to bring order to his confused existence. In random burst of clarity the image of the woman would come to him and a feeling of connection would pull him closer to that vision. However, the harder he tried the more difficult the exercise became. His mind was still too ill, to attempt such a task and finally he did what he'd learned as a form of self-defense. He let sleep and dreams take him away.

Dreams - not for the first time, the woman came to him there, and his hand reached for her, to touch the softness of her cheek and brush back her silky ginger colored hair. "pretty, pretty."

**GS GS GS GS GS**

She had changed into nightgown and robe, and now walked the silent halls of the little cottage. She checked the doors front and back and secured the locks and then set about pacing the floors again. She examined each room, by the light of the candle she carried. In the parlor she stopped to look at the mantle. On it, rested a ship in a bottle. She picked it up to examine the workmanship. It brought to mind the image of a castaway on a deserted island, sending out a message in a bottle, hoping someone would find it and save him. "Matt. Oh Matt", he was the castaway. "I'm here to rescue you", she thought, if only you'd send me a message to tell me where to find you.

She put the bottle down and stared into the dancing candle flame. He had sent a message, she realized suddenly. His word, as Lilly had revealed, was surely a message to her, just as certainly, as the word "Cowboy" would be to him. For in their most intimate of moments he'd call her his pretty lady, in that impassioned drawl, "What you do to me Pretty Lady, dear God, what you do to me."

Of this she was suddenly certain, trapped deep inside his lost soul was the man she loved, the man who loved her.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

When she said "good morning" to him the following day, she thought she detected a response. His eyes brightened and there was a definite upward twitch to his lips.

"What would you like for breakfast?" She asked not expecting a reply. He made a grunting sound, which she thought sounded faintly like "eggs".

She repeated the word to him, and he grunted back. Thus on the second day verbal communication was established.

While she fried the eggs, she gave him the plates, he hesitated for a brief moment, before he placed them on the table, as he had the night before.

She smiled, "Thank you, Go ahead and sit down, I'll join you in a minute."

Agitation and bewilderment showed on his face, she had confused him with her simple command. Forcing calmness to her voice, she left the stove long enough to lead him back to the table. She patted the chair. "Sit down." She encouraged him.

He stared at the chair as though it were the first time he'd ever seen it. "Sit." She repeated, finally lowering herself into the chair next to his. "Sit."

He moved cautiously, "Sit." She said again and finally he did.

Nodding, she praised, "Good." She rose to her feet, and he moved to follow her, but she placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. "You sit, I'll dish up those eggs and you can start eating."

She had opted for scrambled eggs, hoping to avoid some of the mess from the day before. She placed the platter in front of him and he made an awkward move toward it with his fingers splayed.

"Ummm, no you don't, this morning we're going to work on using a fork." She sat opposite him again and held up the utensil. "This is a fork, now watch me." She put the implement to use and was pleased to see him focus on her actions. "Now, you try," she urged, placing the fork in his hand. His hold on flatware was clumsy and ineffectual and after several attempts he let the fork fall to the floor. She got up from her chair and picked it up, put it in the dry sink and planted another in his grasp. He promptly dropped that one as he did the next three she placed in his hold.

After giving in the night before Matt assumed she would do the same today, when she didn't he became frustrated and showed his first flash of true feelings. "I know this is hard," she soothed him, "but you can do it." Some instinct she couldn't explain told her his venturing into the arena of emotion was a good sign. Holding both his hands in hers she said, "Every time you do something new it will seem difficult, but I promise you the next time will be easier until finally it won't be a chore at all." Over an hour passed before Kitty cleared their plates from the table - both his shirt and the floor showed evidence of his breakfast. She was puzzling over the matter of his dirty clothing when there was a knock at the main entrance. "You stay." She ordered hastily.

The front door was oak and decorated by a large rectangular window. She could make out a form through the lace, covering the glass pane. Closer inspection, showed it to be the gentleman from the night before. She thought hard to remember his name, and it came to her just as she turned the doorknob. "Mr. Davis, this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

He made a low bow, "Madam, I couldn't help but notice your brother appeared to be in need of hmmm, shall we say civilian clothing." He picked up the brown paper wrapped bundle resting at his feet, "I took the liberty of bringing over some shirts, pants, shoes and other apparel, which I hope he can make use of until you depart for your home. I did speculate on the size, but hopefully he will find them adequate."

She hesitated for a beat, remembering Mr. Wilcox's warning to _trust no one_, but Mr. Davis's gift seemed an answer to a prayer. Reaching for the bundle she said, "Thank you. I will be happy to reimburse you for the cost."

"Not necessary my dear," he said, sideling past her, "I'll just carry them in for you, shall I?" He walked into the parlor with Kitty following behind, "Among other diversified interests my family owns the Davis Port Emporium, so it was certainly no problem, these items, being somewhat an extraordinary proportion, for the normal male population of our little community, have been on the shelves for years. Now, if there is anything else you might need, please let me know."

His skin was tanned but hadn't acquired the leather of a frontiersman. Sun kissed brown hair; hazel eyes and a dazzling smile were his ready ammunition. Though he was not as tall as Dillon, she nevertheless had to bend her neck to look up at him, "I wish you'd let me pay you."

"My dear, you may repay me with a cup of coffee and a few minutes in your delightful company."

She smiled, "A few minutes is all I can spare, I'm afraid. My brother needs a lot of attention right now. Come into the kitchen, if you don't mind and we'll both have a cup."

She led the way through the dining room into the kitchen forgetting for the moment how untidy the room was after their lesson in the etiquette of proper fork usage. Matt was still at the table just as she'd told him to be. His lips curled up when she entered the room and immediately uncurled when he saw their guest.

"We have company," she told him, in a cheerful voice. "Mr. Davis was kind enough to bring you some clothes. Sit down Mr. Davis, and I'll set the pot on the stove to brew."

The visitor took a chair across from Matt giving him curious perusal, "I'm glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Kent."

She'd moved up behind Matt, placing her hands on his shoulders, "My brother isn't much for talking; you see he suffered a severe injury, the exact cause is unknown. It was only by luck that I found him a patient at St Vincent's; He has no memory, and a great deal of difficulty communicating. I'm hoping that once he has regained his strength his health and memory will improve."

"That's a grand undertaking for a woman alone, especially one as beautiful as you."

"Mr. Davis, looks have nothing to do with intelligence and fortitude, one does what one must for family's sake."

He cocked his head at her in a concerned way, "Are you and your brother only children?"

She ran her tongue over her lips, "Matt is the brother to my departed husband."

He shook his head sadly, "I am sorry. My dear you are far too young to be left a widow."

Wilcox had carefully laid out the details, for the life she was to assume and now she repeated them as though they were fact, "My husband fell at Chickamauga. My own brothers perished at Cold Harbor, Matthew is the only immediate family I have left."

The aroma of the brewing coffee scented the room. Kitty rose from the table to pour them each a cup. She handed one to Beaumont Davis and set the other in front of her chair. Matt reached out for the cup but she caught his hand, "Hot!" she warned him. He reached with his other hand and grabbed the mug; liquid spilled over and burned his hand. "Hot." She repeated, hoping he'd made the connection, as she applied a little butter to his reddened skin.

She sat down and poured a small amount of coffee into her saucer, blew on it and then held the dish to his lips. "He always liked coffee, it seems that hasn't changed."

"I admire your courage my dear. It isn't an easy path you've chosen. You are aware, there are private institutions for those afflicted such as your brother-in-law, with clean pleasant surroundings, unlike what I'm sure you found at St. Vincent's."

"Yes," she replied slowly, "but, I could never leave him in a place like that, not as long as there is a chance he will come back to me, the way he was, before all of this."

Davis nodded slowly, his glance flashed from man to woman, "I think I understand, but, I might be so bold; Mrs. Kent a woman such as you deserves more than a shadow of a man."

Her hand covered Dillon's, "Even like this Mr. Davis, his shadow stands tall."

**GS GS GS GS GS**

It was work, there were no two ways about it, and by the end of the second day she was exhausted. His agitation set free at the breakfast table, now seemed to resurge at odd moments throughout the day. Other emotions as well seemed to rest just below the surface, he hadn't offered her a true smile, nor did he laugh, but she had the sense once or twice, he'd experienced a lightheartedness of spirit akin to happiness.

His hair was wild - his beard rugged and were it not for his eyes and his height he would be hard for even Kitty to recognize. The clothing Beaumont Davis had brought for him to wear fit poorly to his frame, and she used a rope strung through the belt loops to keep the pants in position at his waist. The sleeves of the shirt, were too short and she rolled them up to give him a more tended look. Still, without his St. Vincent's uniform he looked closer to normal - save for the fact his big feet were bare. He had refused to allow her to put the shoes on him- like a little boy he curled up his toes so there was no way she could push them on. With her hands on her hips and exasperation in her voice, she declared, "Fine, go without shoes, but don't cry to me if you stub your toe or end up with a sliver in your foot." She thought she saw a flicker of light in his eyes, as he counted this success a victory.

As she had the night before she doctored his shoulder wound and helped with his bathing and then tucked him in bed, as she would have a two year old.

Dropping a tender kiss to his forehead, Kitty wished him, "Good night, sleep well."

She had straightened her spine and moved to leave the room when she heard him speak. "Sit," he said, the clarity of the word nearly knocking her off her feet, fulfilling his surprising command. "Sit." He repeated. She blinked back her shock. Smiling at him, she willingly obeyed his order and returned to her chair.

She waited for a moment and saw his gaze travel to the pile of books on the table, "Did you want me to read to you?"

"Sit." He said again, and she realized for tonight that one word would have to serve a multitude of purposes. She picked up the leather bound volume, and began reading some of the same verses she'd read the night before. She was drawn to Lucasta - Going to the Wars, for there was something powerful in the reading and the saying of that last line. Like some final benediction to an evensong, the words brought comfort and understanding, "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more." His eyes were closed, when she rose from the chair. "Good night Cowboy," She whispered, as a final "amen" to her vespers prayer.

_FYI Evensong - an evening worship service - the sixth of the seven **canonical** hours, also known as vespers._


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

The face was familiar and it haunted Matt's dreams. Hovering above him, eyes narrowed, mouth wide open, baring his white teeth in an iniquitous sneer. All the while, the sun beat a devil's halo around his frame. The feel of a gun butt slammed against his skull, and a boot heel dug in his side mixed with his fear for the red haired woman.

He knew no words for danger save the one she'd taught to him. "Hot… hot …" he groaned, tossing his body from one side to another, trapped in that hinterland between dream and reality. He cried, "Hot ... Hot," until the sound of his cries, woke her from sleep in her bed down the hall. Not bothering with her robe, she raced into his room. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she bore down with her weight to stop his frantic pitching. He opened his eyes to the dim light of first dawn, leaving the blazing sun of his dream behind.

"Shhhh," she soothed, "It's alright." Heat radiated from his body and she feared his fever had returned.

He stared at her with clear eyes, his mental processes sharp with the need to warn her of the threatened danger, "Hot, hot."

She let up on her pressure and raised her hand to feel his forehead. "You are warm, but I don't think you have a fever. I'll open the window to let a little breeze in."

The inability to communicate with her frustrated him; he grabbed her shoulders in a vice like grip and with straight arms held her suspended over him, "Hot" he shouted at her.

The abrupt action startled her, "Let go of me." She commanded.

"Hot." His hold was tight, even in his weakened condition, she was no match for his power.

"Let me go!" she shouted back.

His thoughts were becoming confused again along with his emotions.

The woman in his hands became the physical object of his mental struggle. As though she were a rag doll he shook her. He spit the words out at her, "Hot … HOT."

Strands of red hair clung to the tears on her cheeks. She choked back sobs, there was no bravery left in Kitty Russell, her courage was spent; her will to survive was being shaken from her as one would shake the chaff from wheat.

The sound of her sobs reached him, though he was unable to identify the reason why. He stopped shaking her; she hung limply in his outstretched arms. As one trying to see on a fog shrouded night, his eyes searched hers for a connection. A tear dropped from her cheek and landed on his lip. He ran his tongue around his mouth to retrieve it. The connection … only a slender thread was made, and he pulled her down to his chest. Her body shuddered from exhausted sobs. Though his grasp was no longer that of a captor and she could have escaped had she made the effort to do so, she remained where she was. All the grief and uncertainty of the last six months had fallen in on her - the weight of it proved stronger than his hold.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

There was a chill to the morning, and she was glad for the heat the cook stove brought to the kitchen. She had left him earlier, prying herself from his sleeping arms to escape to the washroom. There, she had filled the water bowl. Cupping her hands she splashed the icy liquid over her face. Her cheeks were chapped and hot from the tears of the night before. A glance in the mirror showed her red skin was not the only casualty from last night's abuse. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from tears. "You look like hell." She informed her reflection.

Every nuance of the ordeal was alive in her mind. What happened had stunned her to the core, for she'd experienced first hand, how unstable Matt was. Not only had his mental abilities been altered but his emotional ones as well. He'd been no better than an animal. Panic set in as she wondered what he would do next. She realized the impossible had come to pass, she was afraid of him. With self-preservation to the forefront, she went to the back porch and retrieved some leather ties she'd seen hanging there. Creeping into his room she tethered his wrists to the iron-framed headboard. She worked quickly and carefully so as not to disturb his deep slumber.

She had checked on him again after she'd washed and dressed. He was still lost in a heavy sleep, oblivious to everything, even after she'd accidentally kicked the leg of his bed. She returned to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of fresh coffee and carried it to the table. As she set it down some of the hot brew splashed over the rim and burned her hand. "Ouch, hot." She gasped aloud. The day before, she'd said the same thing to Matt, warning him, before he was burned. A little spark of understanding started in the back of her mind and worked its way to prominence. The two incidents were related for he'd repeated another word she'd said to him, "sit".

She shivered and folded her arms across her chest to fight off the chill. With her hands resting on her upper arms, she felt the tender bruises he'd left there. A sinking feeling came over her, what if Matt remained as he was, could she continue to care for him, was Mr. Davis right? Was an asylum the best place for him? She had no time to further dissect her thoughts for there was a knock at the front door. Afraid he would be awakened by the noise she ran to the main entryway of the house. Standing on the porch was Lilly, the `_ten-day girl', _from St Vincent's. Kitty opened the door a crack.

The woman made a clumsy effort at an inelegant curtsy, "Well I done finally found you Missy, I was asking every cab driver I dun seen, ifn' he knew what happened to the purdy red haired gal, and the big feller wearin' the loony duds."

Opening the door a little wider, Kitty asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Well'm I reckoned I ain't got no place to sleep, `ceptin the back alleys, and I figured a fancy gal like you wouldn't know what to do with Abe, him being addled in the head in all. I reckoned we could kinda help one another out … me need'n a roof over my head and you need'n an extree hand."

Kitty's eyes swept over her, she was dirty and her clothing tattered, "I appreciate the thought, but this is a small cottage, there are only two bedrooms, there's no place for you to sleep."

Pulling herself to full height, Lilly said, "Ah, heck Missy, I don't need no bed, don't reckon I'd know how to sleep on one if'n I had to. The floor's fine, just so long as I got me a rag to cover up with."

From the bedroom Kitty heard the sound of Matt stirring. He was babbling, his words agitated but unintelligible. She glanced at Lilly and opened the door wide allowing her entry.

Stepping into the cottage, Lilly nodded her head knowingly; "He's got the funk, when they is com'in outa the wakeful sleep - that's when they get it."

"Then this is a good thing?"

"All depends..."

"Depends on what?"

"Some of 'em … just stay in the funk … never get no better … them's the ones they give the pills to and chain to the bed."

A violent crash came from Matt's bedroom; Kitty gave a wild-eyed glance at Lilly before running down the short hall to his room.

The water pitcher lay shattered on the floor by his bed. He was pulling at the straps, violently - shaking the bed with his efforts. His wrists were bloodied by his exertion. The sounds coming from his mouth were like those of a wild creature caught in a trap. The sight of her, only made his struggle more frantic. Lilly had followed behind. Taking in the situation, she pushed Kitty aside and sat on the bed facing Matt. Her voice was quiet, so quiet he stopped making noise to hear her.

Kitty stood back watching, wringing her hands to keep them from trembling. She could see his heart pounding against his chest; perspiration beaded his skin, while his eyes darted from one woman to the other.

"Howdy Abe, I come to help you get better. You gotta get yourself calmed down now, you hear?" Reaching into the pocket of her grungy dress she pulled out a pill. "I brung you som'thin from St. Vinnie's, som'thin to make you feel better." With quick hands, she popped the pill in his open mouth. She placed one hand on his forehead and used the other to massage his throat. "You swaller, you hear?"

Kitty saw Matt's Adams's apple bob in response to Lilly's command. Whatever powers the pill contained it was swift in its course - within minutes his pulse slowed and his eyes fixed on Lilly. "There now, that's better. This gal's got you all tied up like a hog, wait'in fer a roastin. You gots to promise me you won't go all wild now. You promise me and I'll untie them straps."

He made no sound or movement to the affirmative; Kitty doubted he could. The medication had robbed him of any desire to fight or obey.

Lilly began to work on the strapping. "I reckon you seen how much you need me. I know how to care of thems like Abe."

Kitty Russell's voice was a raspy whisper. "But if he's drugged he won't ever get better."

Lilly spun to face her, "If'n he's drugged, he ain't gonna hurt you none neither …" The woman saw her words hit Kitty hard and immediately worked to soften them, "I reckoned all this here's come as a shock to you, him too … Look …" she reached deeper into her pocket and pulled out a handful of the tablets. I knowed where they kept `em at St. Vinnie's … I emptied two bottles full into my pockets afore I left." Lilly patted Matt's hand, and looked back to Kitty. "Doncha see, once we got him calmed some, we can cut down on what we give him, so he comes back little bit by little bit."

Turning from the girl, Kitty stared at Matt, trying with all her might to see something of the man she loved, "And you believe that will work?"

Lilly took a step toward Kitty, "I seen it work, once or twice."

"Once or twice … not real good odds I'm thinking."

"Ma'am, poor odds is better'n no odds."


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his blue eyes dull and unblinking, as the drug Lilly had administrated, robbed his soul of thought and function. He had been this way for hours. Kitty would check on him periodically as she went about her chores. For brief moments throughout the early morning, she would stop to study him, looking for some sign of the man she knew and loved. "I can be strong," she would tell herself, "I can take anything life deals out as long as I know Matt will come back to me."

Lilly remained in the chair next to the bed, watching over Matt, as she had watched over her `fellas' back at St. Vincent's. She would offer Kitty a crooked smile of reassurance, showing off a yellow jagged- tooth grin. "I reckon, when he's like this his head `n body is a'healin'."

Kitty's nerves were raw. The pressure had caught up with her, without an ally of some sort she knew, she would never be able to see Matt through this. Lilly seemed like God's gift, and while Kitty had no intention of allowing Lilly to become her confidante, she felt Lilly had developed a bond with Matt and would do everything in her power to help him heal. The warning Mr. Wilcox had made in the carriage ride to Davis Port repeated in her mind, "Trust no one." Surely this admonition didn't apply to a `ten-day girl'.

"I'm mighty glad you're here, Lilly." Kitty told her, but as she said it she had to force her nose not to react. Lilly smelled. It was clear, Kitty would have to do something about her hygiene, for the woman seemed even dirtier here than she been at the county asylum. She would need clothes, undergarments, decent shoes, but most importantly soap and water. There were things that Matt needed too. If she couldn't get shoes on his feet, than at least socks and carpet slippers. After an hour of personal debate, she made the decision to leave Matt in Lilly's care, so that she could do some shopping also admitting to herself that a good walk, fresh air and a little distance might provide the perspective to master the predicament.

It was a good two-mile walk to the business district. Not a great distance to travel, but one that would require proper shoes and clothing to make the hike manageable. She changed into her sturdy riding boots, and a black-skirted frock, topped by a simple but elegant black and gray striped sateen cape, which had been included in the clothing of Mrs. Barger. Kitty pulled her red hair into a simple arrangement and topped it with the small gray plumed hat. She added a touch of rouge to her lips and cheeks. Even in time of great crisis, Kitty took pride in her looks.

"I won't be gone long." She explained to Lilly, as she pulled on a pair of gloves.

"Kin I do fer ya whilst you're gone?"

"No, no, you keep an eye on him, perhaps you should put the straps back on and keep him tethered to the bed until I get home."

"Yes'm, but he ain't gonna no where, not like that he ain't, leastwise not for a few more hours."

**GS GS GS GS**

Kitty Russell stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door behind her and took a deep breath. The air was fresh with the gentle bite of early fall. She sighed and moved forward feeling some of the weight of responsibility lift from her shoulders, as she marched down the street.

As she walked she made some mental notes of things she needed to purchase. Matt had proven some ability with language and common sense told her this was the door to his mind and heart. She decided she might pick up some simple picture books and a writing tablet or slate to aid with their learning sessions.

Traffic picked up as she neared the commercial district and the town square. A large stone courthouse stood in the center of a park like lot, mature elms, oaks and maples dressed in their early fall colors provided shade on the sunny day, fountains and flowers added to the esthetic appeal. Four streets framed the square. Small shops occupied two sides; these included a bakery, barbershop, a small cafe and a butcher shop - Yeoman Meat Market. She recognized the name from a calendar, which hung by the back kitchen door, and from an advertising card that had been sitting on the table, when she had arrived at the cottage. She glanced at the cafe and noticed red gingham curtains framing the windows and thought immediately of Delmonicos and home. She heaved a sigh, thinking life had been much easier on the harsh frontier than it was here in the relative luxury of civilization. The Grande Port Hotel and Opera House took up most of the third side. An immense brick building towering five stories in height dominated the fourth, aptly named Davis Street. The words "Davis Port Emporium 1869" identified the structure in shining gold gilt letters atop the roofline. This was her destination.

The Emporium was a hub of activity. Ladies in fine dress, gentlemen in business suits, servants, and farmers were all doing trade in the same store. The main level was a symphony in white. White walls, white counters, white marble floors, it would have been painful to look at, had it not made the merchandise stand out in wait for the consumer's eye. The ceiling stretched two stories in height. In the center of the large showroom was a magnificent open staircase with a plush red carpet runner, which led to the second floor mezzanine, and to the side of the staircase was an elaborate Victorian styled, white iron birdcage elevator. This conveyance was trimmed in gold and operated by an elderly, dark skinned man, wearing a red Zouave jacket, decorated with military braiding. This store was vastly different from those businesses, which assumed the same moniker on the western frontier. Every possible item imaginable was here to purchase, from ladies corsets to farm supplies, separated by department and location so that a shopper for either item need never feel embarrassed for a purchase.

An austere woman of middle years, dressed in white, moved forward, "Mrs. Barger," she said in greeting. "We didn't expect you back so … " She stopped in mid-sentence as she realized it was not Mrs. Barger to whom she was speaking. She pulled on the spectacles, that had been hanging on a cord at her neck, and took a closer look at Kitty. Her face registered brief surprise before she continued speaking. "Excuse me Madame, I mistook you for someone else, may I be of assistance?" Kitty felt a twinge of uneasiness but she concealed it behind her practiced poker face. With calm assurance, she repeated her list to the woman and was given directions to the various departments. In Lady's Ready to Wear she quickly selected a modest, but complete wardrobe for Lilly, in another area she perused the toiletries, picking up a brush, comb and two cakes of Cashmere Bouquet, hoping that the sweet smelling soap might have an effect on the ten-day girl's offensive odor. On the second floor in the furniture department, she came across a small cot with soft feather ticking, which could fold up when not in use and decided this would work as a bed for Lilly. She shopped for Matt next, and found a pair of carpet slippers in a size large enough for Matt's big feet. She also picked out several pairs of thick wool socks, a leather belt, and a warm wool shirt, which could serve as a jacket until a more suitable garment could be purchased. Next she stopped by the fabric and sewing notions, here she chose lace, netting and other accessories to act as disguise for Mrs. Barger's clothes, for she didn't want to take any more chances at having her wardrobe recognized again. Back on the lower level, to the far left side she found sporting goods, and picked out two simple fishing poles and basic fishing gear.

It was as she was looking at a selection of children's literature on the main level, that she had the odd feeling someone was watching her from behind. She turned around quickly, and scanned the store. Nothing seemed amiss and no one appeared to have her under surveillance. All she saw were the two gentlemen dressed in white jackets, working behind the main counter; their balding heads and sloping shoulders reflected in a large paneled mirror to the rear of them. The clerks were busy at a cash register ringing up the totals for a woman and her young son, and showed no proclivity toward curiosity for her presence. She gave herself an inward scold, `_don't be so jumpy_,' she silently rebuked. She braced herself from within and went back to the books trying to decide which ones might make some sense to Matt's muddled mind. Only seconds later, the feeling hit again almost as strong as the touch of a human hand, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she shivered as her heart trembled in her chest. She fought against a feeling of panic, akin to an attack of anxiety.

She picked up the books with shaky fingers and carried them to the counter to set down with the other items she intended to buy. She opened her handbag to find her money and when she looked up again it was to the face of Beaumont T. Davis. He was dressed impeccably in a black suit and silk bow tie. His hair perfectly in place and his tanned face flawless, Kitty thought wryly, `_He's prettier than I am_.'

"Mrs. Kent, what a sincere honor to have you in our humble mercantile. I trust you found everything you needed."

Kitty smiled, "Why yes Mr. Davis. But, I'd hardly call this place humble."

He smiled and his white teeth gleamed with the effort, "It is rather grand isn't it?" He walked around the counter and took her elbow in his hand, guiding her a step or two away from the register. "After all this shopping you must be famished, allow me to escort you to the tea parlor, for refreshments."

She shook her head, "I need to get back to Matt. I can't leave him alone for long."

"The `ten-day girl' is with him, isn't she?"

Her mouth dropped open and it took her a moment before she asked, "How do you know about Lilly?"

"Mrs. Kent, there isn't a lot that goes on in Davis Port that I don't hear about sooner or later." He offered a congenial smile meant to ease her concerns. "My carriage was passing by your home this morning when you opened the door to let her in. Everyone in town knows Lilly is a perennial offender and because of her bad leg, serves out her sentence at St Vincent's. I merely put two and two together. Seeing you here today, confirmed my suspicion." She was not that easily appeased, and a sense of wariness caused her to proceed with caution, "Be that as it may, I do not feel comfortable leaving him along for long, especially since I have just found him again. I'm sure you understand, you could help me though, I have all these packages to see to..."

She didn't finish her sentence before he interjected, "Not to worry my dear, I will have them delivered, and then I will drive you home after our meal."

There was something tenuously comforting about a big strong man exercising control over her frantic life. Still, she'd learned throughout her years, not to rely on men, "I would appreciate having these items delivered, but I can't ask you to go out of your way driving me home, I'm sure you have more important things to do."

His handsome grin all but radiated its own light, and like an unsuspecting moth to a flame Kitty was drawn to it, "What could be more important in life than spending time with a beautiful and intelligent woman?" This was a novel attitude, for even on Matt Dillon's best days, Kitty knew, he considered quite a few things more important than their time together, for duty and the badge always came first. Beaumont turned to the clerk ringing up the bill, "Mr. Starkey, see that Mrs. Kent is given the, `family discount' and have her purchases packaged and delivered to her home." Beaumont grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled out Kitty's address and handed it to Starkey.

"Come my dear, our tea room is on the third floor, we shall employ the aid of my new hydraulic passenger elevator." She permitted him to escort her to the unique contraption. She had seen no one else use the machination since she had entered the store, although the staircase was quite busy with activity. "Is it safe?" She questioned.

"Yes'm. Safe as any you's gonna find." Answered the man in the red jacket.

Beaumont concurred, "Perfectly trustworthy, modern technology my dear, this is a marvelous new age we're living in."

She couldn't keep the trepidation from her eyes, but there was also excitement shining through. He took her hand in his. "I would never let harm come to you, you must believe that." He assured her.

They stepped in the cage as the elevator man worked the controlling levers. They started up with a jolt. Kitty closed her eyes against a sudden swell of dizziness, when she opened them again and looked down it was to see the main lobby growing smaller and smaller. By the time they reached the third floor and the doors opened up to the tearoom, she had to admit it'd been a thrilling experience. The tearoom itself was charming. Ladies out for a day of shopping were taking a break from the exercise, enjoying delicate petit fours, and cucumber sandwiches, served with tea so richly aromatic that its scent filled the room. The pitch of female chatter and the clink of china and silver added melody to the scene.

The four waitresses dressed in gray gowns with starched white aprons, and cream puff hats resting atop their heads, stopped what they were doing to offer a royal curtsey, and a "Good day, Mr. Davis."

"Ladies." He greeted with a regal nod, before turning back to Kitty."Come Mrs. Kent." He led her through the dining room to double doors and a grandly furnished suite beyond, "My private rooms." He advised."I conduct my business meetings here." The wall adjacent to the public room was glass a fact that struck her curiosity, for she had not noticed such from the other side, she recollected only mirrors lining the wall of the public room. Beaumont quickly pulled a cord, which closed the red velvet draperies, thus hiding the public room from view.

A young attractive woman dressed as a servant entered from a door at the back of the suite, "Bonjour Monsieur Davis."

"Colette, we'll have the usual please."

The usual was like no usual Kitty had ever been accustomed to before. Champagne and caviar were only the beginning to a five-course meal, each course served with a wine finer than the last. Even Kitty's somewhat sophisticated palette was in awe of the cuisine. He was adept at the social graces and kept her amused by his lively conversation. It was three hours later that they made their way back down the elevator.

At the rear of the building standing in wait, was Beaumont's Cabriolet carriage, pulled by a matched team of gleaming chestnut Hackneys. The driver dressed much the same as the elevator operator, jumped down from his perch to assist Kitty into the carriage. She sank down into the rich velvet upholstery and murmured a contented sigh, giving voice to a warm fuzzy feeling of satisfaction that an afternoon of pampering can bring. Beaumont looked at her as if drinking in her presence.

"Mrs. Kent." Davis began as the carriage made its way down the street in style. "I feel I have come to know you so well, in such a short time." There was nervousness in his practiced voice, "I wonder if I might presume to call you by your given name and if you might feel equally comfortable to use mine?" Wine and luxury were potent relaxants, "My friends call me Kitty." She replied with out second thought. "Kitty, lovely it suits you." He chuckled, "The name conjures mental images, delightful, playful, soft, warm, not to mention that gentle purr of contentment a little pampering can bring." He paused, and ran a tongue over his lips to moisten them, "but I think there is a little of the cat in you as well, proud independent, and able to defend yourself by claws or wit as the need arises. My dear lady, you should not have to. You deserve to be taken care of, indulged and cherished."

He leaned closer, and she felt his breath, as he moved toward her lips. At the last moment, she backed away, raising her gloved hand between them. "Mr. Davis, perhaps we had better remain on a more formal basis."

"My dear, I apologize for rushing you. I am an unforgivable cad.I can only hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I will wait for you to make the next move." The driver pulled his matched team to a stop in front of the cottage on Lincoln Avenue. Beaumont's voice took on a sudden urgency that betrayed his playfulness; "I want to see you again. Soon."

She shook her head, "I, I have responsibilities. Matt needs me."

"You have the girl now to see to his needs. Kitty, you are young, vibrant, and too much alive to be buried in a tomb of despair." He forcefully brightened his voice, making it less intense, "Come visit me tomorrow at my home. I will send my carriage."

"I don't think so."

"Come now, I won't take no for an answer."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to."

He was a man used to having his own way. He replied as though he hadn't heard her speaking, "My driver will be here at One O'clock."

She shook her head in frustration, but allowed him to help her from the carriage and escort her in the house. The front parlor was filled with brown paper wrapped packages. The newly purchased cot had been set up. They proceeded through the house to the sun porch. Lilly and Matt were sitting quietly on the wicker settee.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long." Kitty apologized.

Lilly's voice held a trace of recrimination, "The man who brung the cot `n packages said you `n Mr. Davis was eatin' fancy Frenchy grub."

Beaumont's refined nose curled at Lilly's strong smell, but he managed a gracious reply, "And a most delightful meal it was." He turned to Kitty and made a formal bow. "Mrs. Kent. Kitty, I will take my leave from you, until tomorrow."

"Mr. Davis, I appreciate today, and I don't mean to be rude but ..."

He turned and was already on his way to the door, "Tomorrow my dear Kitty-Cat." He called.

When they heard the front door shut, Lilly said. "He's a sweet talker, ain't he?"

Kitty nodded, but her concern was directed at Matt. "How's he doing?"

"He's over the funk, leastwise he is for now. Don't rightly know when or what will set him off again."

Kitty sighed, feeling the weight settle back on her shoulders, "I brought you some new clothes and soap of your own, if you'd like to clean up, I'll sit with Matt."

"Yes'm" She said and headed for the parlor to open up the packages containing the items Kitty had purchased.

When Lilly was in the washroom, Kitty brought out one of the new picture books and sat next to Matt. He didn't change his facial expression but she felt his body weight shift away from her. Under normal circumstances, she would have felt he was showing displeasure, maybe even jealousy, for the time she had spent with Beaumont. She discounted the emotion. "I have a surprise for you." She opened the book in her lap to the first brightly colored plate. "A is for is an apple." She said pointing to the picture. "B is for Ball. C is for Cat."

"Kaa aaa t." He repeated in a poorly formed deep-throated drawl.

"Yes!" she encouraged, well pleased at his attempt. "Cat."

"Ca at." He said again, looking at her until their eyes met. His were clear and she could see the light of intelligence beginning to shine through, "K it tee-Ka at." He said and she heard more than a hint of accusation in his artlessly formed words.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

All about him seemed dark and strange. As a small child looks to a crack in the bedroom door, trying to find light in the dead of night, so Matt Dillon viewed his world. He knew, without understanding he was connected to this red haired woman. A need, strong but indefinable made him yearn for her presence, when she wasn't with him. There was more too, he was compelled by an innate sense of duty to shield her from harm. These feelings were fluid, sometimes near the surface, sometimes buried deep, but always in him. Elusive emotions, he could not classify, nor did he have the faculties to attempt to dissect them. He had learned however, in the small time he'd been with her that she was the light, which could illuminate his darkest night.

**GS GS GS GS GS **

They all worked in the kitchen together, making supper that night. Matt snapped green beans, a simple task, which served as a form of therapy, helping him regain some of his lost dexterity and mobility to hand and finger function. He was slow at the task, and some of the beans had ended up on the floor, waiting to be scooped up later.

Kitty rolled out pastry dough, laid it in a pie pan and fluted the edges using thumb and forefinger to form a fancy scallop. Then she filled the pie shell with fragrant slices of cinnamon and sugared apples. As she did, she made sure to remind Matt of the picture in the alphabet book. "'A' is for Apple." He made an attempt to say the word, and she rewarded him with a piece of the succulent fruit.

Lilly peeled and diced potatoes before sliding them into a boiling pot of water. It was a pleasant time with each occupant of the room at peace with the others and themselves. The ten-day girl had cleaned upwell. While she would never be a pretty woman, soap, water and decent clothing made a big difference in her appearance. Kitty caught her looking at her likeness in the mirror over the dry sink. Their eyes met in the reflection. Lilly smiled. "I'm a beholdin' to you Missy for gettin' me these fancy duds, and letting me warsh-up. It weren't that I favored being all grungy-like … you know."

"You look mighty fine, and it's I who is thanking you. I don't know what we would have done, had you not appeared at our door."

For the first time since they'd come to the cottage, dinner went well, Matt was on his best behavior, doing everything within his abilities to please her. He used his fork with some degree of correctness and even remembered to tuck his napkin into his shirt. He drank his coffee after giving it several obligatory cooling blows, and it was he who reminded her the liquid was "Hot."

With his new house slippers on his feet, they walked to the river's edge and sat again by the birch trees to watch the quiet lapping of the water. She held his hand wishing for his strength of heart and mind to return, he held hers thankful for the security her small fingers offered. It was a comfort to talk to him, even if he couldn't respond in kind. "When I was a girl, I'd go down to the river, Mississippi River it was … and watch the riverboats come in and the barges go out and think of all the exotic and exciting places they'd been or were going to … and I'd think someday, some far off someday, I will go to those exotic and exciting places too." She sighed and held tighter to his hand.

"Somm … da." He replied.

She looked at him not sure if he were mimicking her words, as a parrot copies speech, or if he comprehended the meaning behind them. She smiled at him, "Yes, someday. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about someday. I guess, it should be a life lesson learned, that someday is now, and it is what we have been blessed with at this time and place that we need to appreciate, and not waste our time daydreaming about a future that might never be." His grip on her hand tightened, she felt a charge of energy pass from his to hers, "Sommda." He repeated and again, much clearer now, "Sommeday." Her heart beat a little faster for in the saying of the words and the connection of the touch, she felt the dream come alive again.

Dusk fell and they returned to the cottage. The kitchen had been tidied and Lilly had fallen asleep on her cot no doubt enjoying therare luxury of clean bed linens and soft down ticking. Seeing the girl asleep, Kitty put her fingers to her lips and `whispered "Shhhh." He followed her suite and did the same. She smiled back at him, for there was something endearing at his childlike efforts to please her.

She lit the lamp in the washroom and helped him to make preparations for bed. Then led him to his room. Mindful of the nightmare, which had taken place the evening before; she wondered if she should perhaps dose him with one of Lilly's pills to preempt a recurrence. However, she hated the thought of the pills and what they did to him and decided she would try at all costs to keep him calm without the use of the drug. Thinking the fairy tales might prove a better image for bedtime, she brought one of the newly purchased picture books with her to the room. "Sit." He invited and she did.

"Shall I read?" she asked.

"Sit … rheee d." He answered, as a ghost of his sweet smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

For a while he listened to the pretty words falling in melodic phrases, the calming effects making his eyes grow heavy, but suddenly he seemed to fight sleep, he raised his body to an elbow and reached for the musty old volume of poetry she'd read from the past two evenings before. "rhee d." He grunted.

"You never were much for fairy tales, Matthew Dillon." Without thinking, she'd said his name, his full name, taking a sharp detour from the dossier Mr. Wilcox had ordered her to follow.

His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes tight for a moment, as if stabbed by a fierce pain. Alarmed, she grabbed his forearms with her hands. His lips trembled as he forced out his name, "Dillll onnn."

Not sure if she should allow him to continue, and knowing she couldn't turn him back, she simply affirmed, "Matthew Dillon … Matt Dillon …that's your name.

Lights danced in his head, pinpricks like in an arm or leg waking from sleep, poked at his memory, "Matt Dillon." He said and this time his enunciation was perfect.


	13. Chapter 13

Thirteen

She had gone to bed that night thinking they'd had a major breakthrough, and if his progress equaled the coming day, what it had been the previous, he was sure to be well, in no time. Hope gave energy to her optimism. She allowed memories of happy times to pool her thoughts and she fell asleep with a smile on her face. Her dreams were sweetly romantic. She awoke to bright sunshine, refreshed and eager to begin again the adventure of bringing Matt back.

Her optimism soon changed for she could hear Lilly's irritated voice coming from his bedroom as the `ten-day-girl' tried to coax his cooperation. Apparently he was fighting her every attempt at even basic grooming. With grunts and growls, and a resounding, "NO, NO!", he loudly refused shoes, carpet slippers and even socks. Kitty decided to keep out of the fray, recalling on even his best days he could besomewhat out of sorts before he'd swallowed that first gulp of morning coffee. She quickly pulled on her robe and slippers and hurried to the kitchen to start his breakfast.

**GS GS GS GS**

Hazy memories flashed through his mind, but their significance remained just out of range. Emotions, never his strong suite welled in his body like lava in an active volcano - close to the surface ready to erupt, but unpredictable and sometimes volatile. However, his tenuous hold on the confusing world around him, was braced by a primal obligation to take charge of his life, to be sovereign; to answer only to that valiant sense of duty and honor, which was inherent to his nature. He sought control, even if it was as small a thing as saying "no" to something on his feet. For in the saying and the refusing, he gained some measure of autonomy.

He was hungry and had no desire to continue the battle of the bare feet. His narrow attention span was already pursuing another direction. The aroma of bacon and eggs drew his interest to the kitchen. Thrusting Lilly from his path he followed the mouth watering smell.

"Listen here Abe," Lilly reproached shrilly, as Matt walked from the room. "You behave like a gent'man. I ain't partial to being pushed around!"

Ignoring Lilly, he lumbered into the kitchen, his early morning gait somewhat awkward and rolling like a seaman too long aboard ship. "eggggs." He demanded of Kitty.

At the stove, one hand with potholder and the other holding spatula, Kitty greeted pleasantly, "Good Morning."

"EGGGS." He said again, louder this time.

"Good Morning." She repeated, "now you say it to me, "Goooood Morn-ing."

"EGGS!" he demanded.

"NO." she replied. "Not until you say, "Good Morning."

He looked at her, and his face took on a glower. His eyes traveled around the room. His stomach rumbled. He licked his lips. There was bacon already fried sitting on a plate at the back of the stovekeeping warm, and biscuits fresh from the oven, sat in a napkin lined basket on the table - within arm's length of his reach.

His scowl grew obstinate. He grabbed a biscuit and moved to pop it in his mouth, but she slapped it out of his hand. "NO." she said again.

He watched the biscuit bounce to the floor and roll toward the sun-drenched porch. She worked to keep her voice pleasant, "I know you are hungry, but if you want to eat you're going to have to show me some courtesy and manners. Now, say, 'Good Morning'."

His eyes darted from biscuits to eggs to bacon, but still he said nothing.

"Matt, say, `Good Morning'."

He stood in the doorway, and Lilly coming into the room had to squeeze past him. "He's heading for the funk." She advised. "I reckon, I kin dose him."

Kitty took a plate, filled it with food and handed it to Lilly, "Let's see how he does, maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Matt's frown lines deepened a degree more, for he'd noticed, Lilly had been served without offering the apparently mandatory salutation,`Good Morning.' Justice had always been a keen element of his temperament. Doing battle for the rights of the underdog, was part of his code of honor, the fact in this case he was the underdog, and in his eyes was being severely discriminated against, added to his indignation. He grabbed another biscuit from the basket and popped it in his mouth.

Kitty was growing annoyed, for she felt he was being stubborn and unreasonable. Before he had a chance to bite down, she pulled the biscuit from between his lips, most of it still intact. Her tone lacked sympathy and showed her own stubborn nature, "No. No, no, say, 'good morning', and then we'll both sit down and eat."

The images in his head were jumbled, lacking words to attach, to give voice to their meaning. Frustration welled. His hands balled to fists."Eeat." He said again, but the intent no longer meant that he should eat, but that Lilly was eating. He pounded his fist to the table. Lilly's plate and the biscuit basket bounced, the silverware rattled, and Lilly's coffee sloshed over the side of the cup. "Eaat." He all but shouted.

Lilly reached in the pocket of her apron and extracted a pill. Even with a bad leg she made it to Dillon's side and pushed the drug down his throat before he had a chance to prevent her from the act. He knew what the pill meant, knew its course of action would be swift. He focused his eyes on Kitty, and gathered his thoughts in a desperate effort to make meaningful words, for he had to make her understand before it was too late, before the pill won, "Lil leee eeet … no … G'mooor ng." The words out of his mouth, the fog rolled in and Lilly guided him back to his room where he collapsed on his bed.

Left standing in place, Kitty expelled the word in a rush of air,"Oh." Understanding hit her like a blow to the gut. She took the eggs off the stove - her appetite lost. She went to stand on the sunporch, arms crossed against her chest, direction of vision locked on the rolling river, besieged by the knowledge she'd let him down, for there was no one who should understand Dillon's sense of justice, better than she.

Kitty dressed without much enthusiasm, donning a dark skirt and white shirtwaist, her hair pulled back in a solitary braid. She shooed Lilly from his room and took her place instead, sitting at the chair drawn close to his side. He was drugged to a cavernous sleep. The air going in his nose and out his mouth in shallow respirations, his chest barely rising and falling with each breathe. With each breath she breathed a silent apology. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."


	14. Chapter 14

Fourteen

He hadn't moved in two hours. At one point she had placed her hand over his heart to make sure it was still beating. Resentment at their circumstances welled with the passing minutes. She stood and began pacing the room. "Damn Mr. Wilcox," She muttered bitterly, "and damn Matt and his noble ideals. Damn the United States Government and their special _Secret Service_." Each step added fuel to her ire until she was red hot with impotent rage, feeling helpless to alter their situation, like a pawn in a game of chess. Her pulse doubled and she could feel it's racing throb. Stopping at his bedside table, she picked up the stack of books sitting there. She hesitated only a moment before she hurled the books, one by one in rapid succession. Each made a satisfying thud as it hit the wall, before landing on the floor, pages askew and spines broken. The action brought some calm to her nerves.

"Everythin' okay in there Missy? You need me." Lilly asked from the other side of the door.

"Everything's fine, I ah … I just dropped something." Kitty replied.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." She felt some remorse, at her childish display and went to retrieve the books and try to undo some of the harm she'd forced on them. Two of the books faired better than the third. The Collected Works of Richard Lovelace, was much the worse for wear. She knelt down and stared at the damaged book and at the page nearly ripped free from the binding. The words jumped from the page and into her heart, "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more."

The poem brought clarity to her mind, and a redirection of her anger to those Matt Dillon had risked so much to defeat, "Damn Colonel Barger and damn his Band of Brothers."

**GS GS GS GS GS **

After days of cool fall temperatures, the weather had suddenly turned unseasonably hot, and Indian Summer was in full bloom. By late morning the temperature rivaled that of a mid-July day. Sun poured in through the cracks between window and blinds, and filtered through the thin lines of the horizontal slats. She pulled the drapes against the beating sun, and undid the top buttons of her blouse. The air in the small house was stagnant and heavy with humidity. Sweat made her clothing cling and perspiration glistened on her skin and caused her hairline to be damp from the moisture. Standing by the window, she turned to study him again. He remained unchanged, cataleptic, trapped in the throws of Lilly's pill.

She returned to the chair by his side. Using an old Harper's Bazaar, she fanned herself and him in an attempt to circulate the unmoving air. The effort proved ineffectual. Rage spent, she felt consumed by sadness. She sighed and fought back a strong desire to throw herself against his chest and weep. Disappointment loomed large, not only for her actions but for the great distance left to travel between the Matt she saw today, and the Matt he once was. It appeared an impossible chasm to cross.

**GS GS GS**

Lilly had tidied up the kitchen, after the ill-fated breakfast and then gone outside to pick the last of the green beans in the little vegetable garden off the back porch. She did a small load of hand wash, and hung the articles on the outside line to dry. Back inside, she moved on to the front room. Here, she lifted the cover off the case of the parlor piano, which graced a corner of the room. She had no training, and certainly no talent, but she liked pressing fingers to random keys, in the effort to make music. No doubt to her minds ear she was emulating some two-bit piano player she'd seen performing at one of the rundown taverns servicing the red light district. Sadly out of tune, the instrument would have struck a dissonant chord to even a seasoned musician's administering. To Kitty's ears the inharmonious noise, set her head to throbbing to the beatless cacophony. Finally, she'd had enough. She left Matt's side and marched to the front room."Lilly! Please stop."

"Why Ma'am, I was just making some music, to try to pass the time, thought it might please you some."

"Thank you for the thought, but not now. Please find something else to do."

"Yes'm." Lilly moved on to the kitchen, and Kitty returned to Matt's room. In no time at all Lilly was making noise in the kitchen as well. It seemed to Kitty's distraught nerves that the girl was rattling and clanking every pot, pan and bowl in the cottage. To make matters worse she'd added wood to the stove and soon the oven was cranking out heat.

Every fiber of her body felt tested, and on edge. There was a knot between her shoulder blades, her neck was stiff, her temples pounded and her empty stomach was queasy from the ache. This time when she went to talk to Lilly her voice was clearly agitated.

"Missy, what's got you so riled today? I'm of a mind to dose you with them pills too!"

The mention of the drug set off another sore spot with Kitty, "Those pills Lilly, I don't want you to give Matt any more of those damn pills."

Lilly shook her head and said in the voice of one who considered herself an expert, "He was headed fer the funk. Me'n you, we ain't no match for him if'n he's in the funk. He could hurt us bad, he could kill us certain sure." She stood tall and pushed forward, her small bosom, "I reckon, I knows when he needs them pills. I seen it in other fellas. You got to dose `em. Once he wakes up agin, he'll be all nice like n' he'll be thinkin' clear fer a spell."

"I think his head was clear this morning, he just couldn't tell us what the problem was."

"I reckon, you's just a'see'n things the way you wants them to be, and not as they is. I ain't taking no pleasure in the say'in of it, but this may be as good as it gets fer ol' Abe."

Lilly's words gave voice to Kitty's own doubts and it angered her, "That's not true, and I won't believe it for a minute and if you want to stay here with us, you won't either."

It was about this time, that there was a knock at the back porch. Lilly gave Kitty a hard look, before she went to answer it. She returned a moment later to announce, "Mr. Davis is here."

"Tell him I don't want to see him."

But, he was already in the room, "My dear, dear lady, what is wrong?"

Gentle manners showed only in her words, "Nothing, please Mr. Davis, I'm not receiving callers today."

He looked down at her with such genuine concern and compassion, that her resolve faltered a might. She pulled her shoulders back, and returned his look with a stoic smile and a softened attitude. He continued, "Let me take you away from this, just a short break. I've told my Grandmother about you, and she is eager to meet you. She had a recent fall and is unable to get out much, it would do her good to have company, and I think you could do with a little break as well."

"Missy, you might as well go, ol' Abe aint' gonna be up fer hours, `n you _AIN'_T do'n nobody no good here."

She wavered, but admitted to herself, that Lilly was right and if she didn't get herself calmed down, she wouldn't be any good to any one. "Alright, just for an hour or so. Let me change into a fresh dress."

He lied, "You look lovely the way you are, but go ahead, I'll wait. Perhaps, Miss Lilly would be so kind as to pour me a cup of coffee, and offer me a piece of cake or cookie to go with it.

"Yes sir, I kin do that." Lilly said.

Mrs. Johnston's clothes were hanging neatly in a wardrobe, in the corner of the room. Many of the dresses were heavy and matronly. Only one, seemed suitable for the warm afternoon. This was a black and white shepherd checked tea gown, with a nine gored skirt and white lawn yoke, trimmed by an eyelet lace collar. The material was light and the effect young and carefree. She released her hair from the braid and swept it atop her head in a relaxed and charming do, leaving soft tendrils to frame her face and accent her lovely blue eyes. She was pleased with the look and stepped from her room expecting to find Beaumont waiting for her in the kitchen, for she hadn't been gone long.

He was not there, nor was he in the parlor. But, in looking down the short hall, toward the other  
>bedroom, she saw him standing over Matt's bed, intensely studying the sleeping man. The sight unnerved her and she stood mutely for a moment, as a chill made its way down her spine. He must have sensed her presence for he turned to smile at her, before walking back to her side.<p>

"Delightful! You look utterly charming Kitty-Cat."

She ignored his compliment. Her words were sharp, "Why were you looking at Matt like that?"

The heat seemed to have no effect on him, nor did her harsh words change his gentlemanly demeanor, "I was trying to imagine what he must have been like before. You are so devoted to him, I wondered if he knew how lucky he was to have you." Davis reached for her elbow,"Come, Grandmother awaits."

A much more direct route to Beaumont's summer home would have been a simple row across the river. A carriage ride added two miles to the trek, however on the open road, away from the city streets there was a pleasant breeze, which quickly refreshed her mind and outlook.

"You said your Grandmother lives with you?" She asked.

"Only during the summer months, during the winter she returns to our family home in Georgia. My dear Grandmother was once a great lady of the old south. We had a sizable estate before the, War of Northern Aggression. Taxes and labor problems have forced us to sell all but the main house, and a small area of land surrounding it, the home is a bit shabby now, in need of paint and repairs. To do the repairs would only cause higher taxes, so its condition remains rundown. Someday,when the political atmosphere of the South changes, I hope to restore the place to its former grandeur."

"The war changed a lot of lives." Kitty said, knowing her character in the dossier had suffered tragedies, but aware also the fight had forever altered the course of her life and Matt's as well.

Beaumont's smile was charming, his voice smooth as silk, "My family is fortunate that our northern interests are profitable enough to keep us out of the poor house. Funny thing about my Grandmother, she seems to find more comfort in the dilapidated family homestead, than she does in my lovely new cottage. She will be leaving soon for Narcissus-in-Bloom, and I shall miss her company."

"Narcissus in Bloom?"

"Yes," His eyes held a boyish twinkle, "You see, Grandmother's Grandmother loved the wild flower and named the plantation after them, it has been called thus, ever since." His eyes glowed with the memory, "Each spring the gardens are alive with the paper white blossoms."

"Seems a strange name for a homestead."

"It was the fashion in those early days." He paused a moment to reflect before continuing, "Considering Mythology, I too, have always felt it an odd moniker. Perhaps my Great-Great Grandmother knew nothing of Greek Tragedies, and therefore, saw not the fabled connotation to the name."

Kitty'd had limited formal schooling, before war, parental death and poverty intervened. In the years since any thing other than the necessities to run her business had escaped her point of study. She understood fashion for she depended on her beauty to attract customers, she had a keen sense of accounting and her bookkeeping was something to be admired. She knew liquor, and where to get the best buy on glassware. She perused catalogues on supplies as soon as they appeared in her mail. She kept pace with day-to-day news for her patrons appreciated commentary on current events. However, she'd never had the time or luxury for reading as a form of relaxation or entertainment. Perhaps, considering the circumstances she questioned too quickly, showing her ignorance, "what does a flower have to do with Greek Mythology?"

If he found her lack of knowledge questionable, considering her alleged background, for every young Southern belle from the last fifty years, was schooled in fables and mythology, he made no comment, "Echo was a beautiful young nymph, who fell deeply and passionately in love with a handsome but disreputable young man named Narcissus. Echo was named such because she had been cursed by the god Juno, and was only able to repeat the last few words of other's sentences. Now Narcissus was a bad character, and had a cruel side to his nature. He was incapable of returning true love.

He had broken many hearts, not only sweet Echo's, and the gods decreed he should know what it was like to care for someone who could never love him back. A spell was cast which declared, that the next face Narcissus gazed upon would be his unrequited love. As he bent over a pool of water to take a drink, he saw his own reflection and immediately fell in love with it, thinking it the most beautiful being that he had ever seen. He tried to embrace his reflection, but each time he touched the water, causing it to ripple, his beloved would disappear. Narcissus forgot all else and obsessed only for himself. He pined away over his reflection with the mournful Echo by his side, until he finally died. For his great beauty, Echo and the nymphs grieved for him, and their sorrow turned his body into a flower, the Narcissus, so that his great beauty would always be remembered."

"How sad for Echo, to love someone who was incapable of loving her back."

"Therein lies the heart of the tragedy my dear, and perhaps it is a lesson for us to learn from."

Without moving her head, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. She said nothing. Her thoughts were of the man she'd left behind that day.

The river narrowed, and here, the carriage crossed over a covered bridge. The sounds of the horse's hooves pounded against the wooden planks. The road turned to follow the waters path again, passing the splendid summer cottages of the affluent. They made another turn, following a brick paved lane, to the home Kitty had admired from the other side of the water.

The brick pavers followed a circular path, which led to the front doors, of the Queen Anne styled home. The driver pulled his team to a stop and applied the brake. He opened the carriage doors, and offered his hand to assist Kitty out. Beaumont followed and said, "Well, this is our summer cottage, I hope you like it."

Up close `the cottage' was even more remarkable than it had appeared from the birch-shaded grove, where she and Matt had first viewed it. There was no sign of shabbiness, here only modern opulence and wealth. The house was new, certainly not more than a year or two old. There was still the smell of fresh lumber to it, and it virtually shined like a new penny. The exterior was painted a pale shade of yellow, detailed in blue and accented by white gingerbread trim. The gleaming windows represented various sizes and shapes. Rounded towers, one taller than the other, decorated both left and right side, making it appear like some reincarnation of a fairy tale castle. There were little niches on the upper level, with rounded stain glass windows, encased by the same fancy woodwork as the porches. The roof was a complex pattern of conical shapes and angles, and the shingles resembled fish scales in shape and color.

The wrap around spindle work porch, extended to this side of the home as well. Wide steps led to huge double oak doors carved with an intricate pattern of oak leaves and acorns. Kitty took Beaumont's elbow as he led her to the door, which was immediately opened by another black man in red jacket. A slight nod of head was exchanged between the men, and the servant offered in perfect elocution, "Your Grandmother is on the back veranda, sir. Will you be joining her?"

"Yes, send Effie with iced refreshments." Instead of entering the house, they followed the porch to the riverside of the home. In a shaded circular pergola, sat Beaumont's grandmother. She occupied the largest chair of a beautifully detailed suite of wicker furniture. In front of her, rested a small table and on the table a delicate Haviland Limoges tea service, gilded in gold and hand painted in a delicate pattern of moss rose and iridescent humming birds.

The elderly woman sitting there was small, but she carried her frame as if each bone of her structure was sustained by starch. The angle of her chin, would have easily added another inch to her height. Her hair was white and full and not even the rigid coiffure could hide its curl and softness. There was a slight up tilt to her eyes and a touch of olive in her complexion, which indicated she'd been an exotic beauty in her day. Despite the wrinkles of age to her face, her bone structure remained exquisite. In her hand, as a queen carries a scepter, she held a black ebony cane.

She managed to control the muscles of her face, so that the droop of age was not apparent and her lips as her eyes slanted upward. The result was not a true smile, but more a look of serenity and peace. "Beau, I see you have brought the delightful young woman, you have told me so much about." She raised thick silver spectacles to her eyes, to study Kitty. "Come my dear, sit down and visit with me. We'll have tea, shall we?" Her voice was soft and melodic, soothing to the ear, with a hint of Southern origin, tempered by the months she'd spent in the North. "My recently infirmed state of health, has prevented me from socializing as much as I'd like. Especially missing, is that of female companionship, for as much as I love my precious grandson, he is not current on fashion and other feminine pursuits. So, kindly humor this old lady with the pleasure of your company."

Beaumont chuckled at the old woman's enthusiastic welcome. He cleared his voice, made a gallant bow and with an eloquent wave of his hand, said, "Grandmother, may I introduce Mrs. Kathleen Kent. Her friends call her Kitty."

"How do you do, my dear Mrs. Kent? I hope soon to be counted as one of those, who may address you as Kitty."

Beaumont turned to the younger woman. His voice carried with it a sweet gentleness, which rivaled that of the old woman's. "Mrs. Kent, this is my very dear Grandmother, Regina Louisa Barger."


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

She carried the blood of a Mississippi gambler in her veins. No one could play the game of poker better than Kitty Russell. Long ago, she had learned to cover up shock and surprise at the hand dealt her, with the use of a benign expression and air of composure. Still, she felt the tips of her ears flame and was glad for the soft auburn tendrils that hid them from view.

"Please, sit down my dear, it is too warm today to do more than sip tea and converse on pleasantries." A black maid exited the back door of the home, and approached them. She was carrying a tray holding a large lead crystal carafe filled with green liquid and ice and tall glasses garnished by lemon slices.

"Ahhh … Miss Effie, you read my mind, just what my spirit was craving." To Kitty he said, "Madam, your choice, Grandmother's tea or mine?"

Regina Louisa Barger smiled, "Beau, even I no longer desire my tea, when you present such an agreeable alternative."

Looking at her hostess, it was hard to imagine Mrs. Barger, as anything other than the charming picture she presented. The thought came to her that perhaps the old woman, was of no relation to the notorious Colonel Barger. After all Barger wasn't an uncommon name. Kitty relaxed a bit. The drink was cool and refreshing, the breeze balmy but pleasant, and the elderly woman slightly, but charmingly senile.

When they had all been served and had taken several sips of the spiked tea, Mrs. Barger said, "Beau tells me your people come from Wethersfield, Georgia. Our home is near Macon, but I had a dear friend who married a gentleman from Spaulding, perhaps you know of his family, I do believe they were prominent citizens of Telfair County, settling near Adams, or was it Alberton? Their name is Yates, Harland is his name and Evangeline was hers, she passed on several years before the war…" she lowered her voice in a confidential tone,"Bright's Disease …" Her voice returned to normal, "they had a daughter, Constance who married a young man from Abbesville, I recollect he was a lawyer and entered into politics, they were blessed with a son and I do believe the boy would be about your age, of course he fought valiantly in the war, and thankfully survived the conflict. I wonder dear, do you know him?"

"Grandmother", Beau laughed, "What was the son's name?"

Regina Louisa giggled, and it was like the tinkling of wind chimes,"That would help, wouldn't it?" She thought for a moment, "It escapes me at present, that's how it is when you are old, ideas and memories fly in and out like bats in a belfry." She put her spectacles up to her eyes again and studied Kitty's tea gown, "Such a sweet dress, I've always admired a shepherd's check … your gown reminds me of something, I feel as if I have seen it before." A very slight frown changed the contour of her features. "I know … I believe I had a similar gown when I was a girl, such a pretty frock…" She was lost in that thought for a moment.

Beau exchanged an indulgent smile with Kitty. "She's right you know,`bats in the bell tower."

Mrs. Barger reached out and swatted Beaumont on the arm. "It's acceptable when I say it, it is disrespectful when you do, young man."

"Yes, Grandmother." He replied with deferential humor.

Mrs. Barger stared for a moment in space, and then asked abruptly,"What do you think of Beau's cottage? He built it for me, you know, although he would never admit it. He has long tried to tempt me from the old family homestead. Two springs ago, he wrote me a long letter, telling me about his new home, `Sumerhaven' he called it. I don't mind saying it is a little too modern for my tastes, the old ways suit me fine, just as the new ways suit Beau."

The old woman's thoughts were flighty and it took some effort to keep up with the conversation and eventually Kitty found it easiest to just smile and nod in agreement every so often. The first pitcher of iced tea was consumed and they were working on a second. It was as Regina Louisa was talking about another girlhood friend of hers named, Bethesheba Shortbody, that the well-spoken black man emerged from the house and approached Beaumont. From the corner of her eye, Kitty saw the handsome man's features turn grim. He replied to the servant in an angry hiss, "I've told them not to come here, if they want to talk business they knows where my offices are."

Sebastian leaned in closer saying something to Davis that Kitty couldn't hear.

"I won't have it!" Beaumont replied, jumping to his feet.

"Sir, he isn't going to leave until he's talked with you."

"There is nothing either of them could say that would be of interest to me."

"Sir, I was told, it concerns a change in certain political interests you are involved with."

Beaumont's body tensed, he clenched and unclenched his fists and then finally agreed, "Very well." He turned to Kitty and lifted the shadows from his face. "My dear, I'm sorry we will have to draw this visit to a close. A business matter has come up, one, try as I might, I am unable to avoid." He nodded at the servant. "Sebastian will see you home. Again, I sincerely apologize my dear." He bowed and then turned to enter his house.

"Beaumont Davis!" His grandmother called, and pounded the wooden porch with her cane to add emphasis to her words. "I won't hear of such rudeness." She gave Kitty a smile; "Mrs. Kent is welcomed to stay as long as she wishes." But, Beaumont, was already in the house and the door had closed.

She rose to her feet, "Mrs. Barger, I don't want to overstay my welcome, perhaps we can continue our visit another time." Kitty was more than ready to return to the hot little house and Matt's side.

Sebastian moved to the forefront, "Madam, the carriage is waiting." His tone implied a command, one Kitty was happy to obey. She followed him along the wrap around porch to the front of the house and couldn't help but notice two handsome horses, tied to the fancy cast iron hitching rail. The animals had been ridden hard, for their coats were lathered, and their breathing was heavy. She noted the leather tact they wore, was richly appointed and vaguely military in style. She wondered silently, who the riders of such steeds might be, and the speculation added substance to her suspicions.

Perhaps seeing the direction of her gaze and her unspoken questions added haste to Sebastian's cause. For he hurried her into the carriage and before she knew it they were leaving the Davis estate. Her head was a little foggy from the spiked tea, but she was certain of one thing. For her own best interests and Matt Dillon's, it would be unwise to plan a return visit to Beaumont's Summerhaven.

**GS GS GS GS**

The little house on Lincoln Street was still warm. Lilly had soup cooking on the stove, adding steam to the already muggy kitchen. A loaf of sliced bread sat on the table and the places were set for supper. "Is he up yet?" Kitty asked as she entered the room.

"I was just gettin' ready to roust him." Lilly replied, making a move toward Dillon's bedroom.

Kitty put up a hand to stop her, "I'll take care of Matt."

**GS GS GS GS**

Where reality and dreams come together, was where Matt Dillon found himself. The woman with the red hair was with him, laughing into his face with such warmth, that it filled his soul. His mind was again whole. Between he and the woman, thoughts were exchanged, devoted promises were shared and they held tight together in a loving embrace. The pull to linger there was intense, and he would have fought to stay, had not reality provided him with the living source of his yearnings. Her voice, dearer than in his dreams, her touch gentle and affectionate, true and tender, "Time to wake up, Cowboy."

He felt the slight shift of her weight, sitting beside him on the bed. Her hand touched his neck and her finger tickled his ear. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, she smiled, and the warmth intensified,"Kit-ttyy." He said, but the free flowing words of his dream were gone and frustration at his condition replaced the warmth, but not for long.

"Hello." She said and his mind flashed memories too fleeting to grasp. "Time to get up sleepy-head." He stared into her face, eyes wide, heart open, and it was the true beginning to the healing of his broken mind.

She felt it too. The energy was electric, the connection as real as it had ever been. "Matt." She said and her voice was a whisper for the necessity of the spoken word was lost.

The connection drew her closer and closer until their lips met in a kiss so light it might not have been, for she pulled back, afraid it was too soon to add these emotions to his fragile state. Still their eyes held tight, and there was no doubting, the meaning of the bond.

They may have remained like that, each drawing energy, the one from the other, for a long time, had not the shrill voice of Lilly interrupted their shared reverie. "I gots supper on the table, best you come eat it now, afore it aint no good no more."

_FYI - (1800's - English and American cookbooks show us that tea has been served cold at least since the early nineteenth century, when cold green tea punches, that were heavily spiked with liquor, were popularized. The oldest recipes in print are made with green tea and not black tea and were called punches. The tea punches went by names such as Regent's Punch, named after George IV, the English prince regent between 1811 until 1820, and king from 1820 to 1830.)_


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

They both jumped at the sound of Lilly's voice. Matt however, held tight to the tenuous hold that connected him to Kitty. Pulsing through his consciousness was a sense of elation, that not even Lilly's piercing voice could quell. For the first time in his memory, he felt the red haired woman was really looking at him. She was seeing past his confusion, to the heart of him, trying so desperately to find its way back, and even though he had few words to express his thoughts, she was truly listening to him.

**GS GS GS GS**

Lilly had been a thorn in her side from the get go that day. Kitty reckoned it would take very little additional provocation, to push her to the point of sending the `ten-day girl' packing. Still, this new found bond with Matt was too precious to risk losing because of a fit of anger. So she fought to keep her annoyance at bay, "Go ahead and eat without us." Kitty told her.

Lilly, standing in the bedroom doorway, with her hands on her hips replied in a whine, "I gots the table all ready, I worked hard on that there soup all afternoon."

Kitty squeezed Matt's hand, and rose from the side of his bed where she had been sitting. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but her words still came out in a syncopated rhythm, "It won't go to waste Lilly, what you don't eat will keep until tomorrow, soup's always better the second day."

Lilly's answer was a glare and narrowed eyes, but Kitty ignored the negative energy the other woman was emitting, and continued, "I'm sure you can understand. Matt has spent his entire day sleeping in this little room. He could do with some fresh air and a little exercise. So you go on now, enjoy your soup, and don't worry about fussing over us."

"Well … he gots to eat too!"

"I'll see that he eats." Kitty replied. She turned her back to Lilly and focused on Matt, offering her hands to help him from the bed. He reached out and took them.

Lilly stamped her feet indignantly, and then rushed forward and attempted to push Kitty out of the way, "You ain't doin' it right "

That was all Kitty was going to take, at least for the present. There was a thinly controlled edge to her voice, "Lilly, get out of this room, we don't need you here."

Lilly backed off, but she didn't back down, "I knows how to take care of them, like Abe."

"I mean it Lilly, leave us be. NOW."

Lilly blew an indignant "Humpf" from her mouth and then stomped from the room muttering under her breath, "You ain't doin' it right and he gots to have food in his belly, I knows how to take care of him, I dun took care of him at St. Vinnie's, I dun brung him back from death's door step."

Kitty turned back to Matt, fearing the delicate tie had been severed, but she need not have worried, for the look in his eyes, told her the bond remained secure. The sunlight she had damned that morning was still flowing through the cracks in the blinds, but now it seemed to be offering an invitation. An idea came to her and she voiced a suggestion, not expecting a response, "There are still a few hours of daylight left, how would you like to go on a picnic? We can fish, I bought fishing poles, when I went shopping yesterday."

The word brought a memory, just a brief flicker of an image but the thought of it made him smile, "F-ish me f-ish"

To Kitty's ears, his simple response was as powerful as an orator's discourse. Her eyes searched his just to reassure herself that Matt Dillon, really was looking back at her. Still, she understood the need to move slowly and not force on him, more than he was ready to it receive. Keep it simple she silently ordered herself, before offering a gentle grammatical correction, "I" she said and gave her chest a tap, "like to fish."

He bobbed his head, "Me f-ish."

With a smile and a nod, she wrapped an arm around his elbow, "I tell you what, you take care of business, and I'll pack us a picnic basket." She led him to the washroom and left him there to attend to his personal needs, while he did she returned to the kitchen, where Lilly was sitting at the table. Her soup was left untouched, and her face was scrunched together in an angry glower. Kitty, in no frame of mind to continue the argument, ignored her. She concentrated her efforts in putting together a picnic supper. She placed a clean dishtowel in the basket they used for gathering garden vegetables and then began filling it with slices of bread, farmers cheese, apples and hard-boiled eggs. Remembering how enjoyable the iced tea was at Summerhaven, she took down a stoneware pitcher from the cupboard and poured in the left over tea from Lilly's afternoon teapot, she added some chipped ice from the icebox, and dispensed a liberal amount of Gold Barrel Whiskey to the mix.

It was about this time, Matt walked into the kitchen, "Fish." He said. "Picnic." She said. And they both smiled at each other, Kitty with memories, Matt with anticipation.

He had on a clean shirt, although the buttons and button holes were misaligned, his wild hair had been slicked in place with water and he appeared very proud of his efforts. She checked him out from top to bottom, "Looking mighty fine Cowboy, but are you going to wear anything on your feet?" She asked.

He wiggled his toes, "Noo."

She said, "Alright, suit yourself. You, can carry the fishing gear," and handed him the poles and tackle box, while she picked up the basket and pitcher of tea. Remembering the `ten-day girl' Kitty turned around to say `good bye', but Lilly was no longer in the room.

The late afternoon was delightful, the sun had cooled its intensity, and the breeze was light enough to do little more than lift the bangs from her forehead before gently placing them down again. They made their way along the well-worn path and settled themselves under the birch trees on the grassy bank.

He was sitting with his legs straight out, she with legs curled to the side. His bare feet were huge and she laughed when she looked at him."Why won't you wear shoes?" she asked, shaking her head and smiling. She didn't look for an answer. She was used to carrying on one-sided conversations with him, for Matt Dillon, even in the best of times, had always been a man of few words.

She was surprised and pleased, when she saw he was working on a reply. Finally, he held up his hands. He curled the fingers of his left hand and then placed his right hand tight over them. "Shoes." He said and his lips turned down in a frown. He removed his right hand and spread the fingers of his left. "No shoes." He said and he smiled.

"I see shoes pinch your feet."

Matt nodded and looked pointedly at her feet, "No shoes." He shook his head back and forth, "Kit-tee, no shoes."

She was laughing, "Oh no you don't! You're not going to corrupt my love of shoes, why back home, I have a whole shelf filled with the latest styles " She stopped speaking in mid-sentence, remembering there was to be no talk of back home.

He wiggled his toes again and then looked at her with a smile that was totally disarming. He could have asked for the moon with that smile, and she would have built a ladder to fetch it for him, "Oh, what the hell." She said, pulling her foot within reach, she began unlacing her fancy footwear.

They ate the bread and some of the cheese, and each drank a glass of the spiked tea. before Kitty decided it was time to fish. She opened the tackle box she'd purchased at the Emporium; most of what was inside was more sophisticated gear than Kitty was used to. Back in Dodge, night crawlers and earthworms were considered top of the line bait, and maybe if you were lucky, a jug cork to serve as a bobber. She looked at Matt and gave a purely feminine, helpless shrug of her shoulders. Was it manly instinct or repressed memory suddenly coming to the surface? It is hard to say, but Matt Dillon seemed to know just what to do. He picked up the chunk of farmers cheese from the basket, and took a bite, and spit it out into his hand, and then worked it onto the fish hook. He handed the baited pole to Kitty, and practiced the same procedure with his own.

Soon their lines were in the water and the store-bought bobbers were bouncing with the waves. "Fish." He said. "I" He tapped his chest twice, "like fish."

"I guess you do." She responded with a grin.

It did not matter that the fish weren't biting, because they were together. He was there with her, not the shell she'd feared he might always be. They sat quiet for a spell. And it was as they were sitting there, side-by-side, toes wiggling together in the sunset, that he said, with a tap to his chest, "I like Kitty."

She swallowed hard, because the words were almost too good to believe. She held her emotions in check, and replied by tapping her chest and saying, "I like Matt."

His eyes locked on the motion of her hand and remained fixed on her bosom as he said again, this time with a teasing smile on his lips, "I like Kitty."

"Hey, I'm up here." She laughed, and with thumb and forefinger lifted his chin, so that his eyes were looking into her eyes and not at her chest. He reached out and did the same, and his touch was as a sweet caress to her face. For a heartbeat, they were silhouetted against the fireball of the setting sun.

At the cottage, standing on the back porch, Lilly noticed the exchange, she watched briefly and then returned to the kitchen.


	17. Chapter 17

**seventeen**

Kitty did kiss Matt that night. She reined in passion, but let love take the lead.

**GS GS GS GS**

The mating of their lips felt as natural to him as holding her hand and smiling into her eyes. Initially, there was a pleasurable peace to the act, even as strange instinctive stirrings replaced the need of memories. The kiss deepened and it was he, who brought passion to the forefront and yet it was he who backed away.

This kiss took place at the rear steps of the sun porch, before they entered the cottage. Dusk had fallen, shadows had deepened and colors glowed soft and muted. The night birds were already singing their bedtime melodies. She stood on the top step, he at the bottom, she had turned around abruptly, to tell him something and found herself inches from his face. The need she had fought hours earlier resurfaced and this time she didn't have the will to deny it.

Lips touched, heartbeats quickened, shared breath turned warm and sweet. He dropped the poles and let go the tackle box, to wrap his arms around her, nearly lifting her off her feet with his strength. A heady pleasure replaced uncertainty, and he felt like he could fly, with the joy of it. Emotion, potent and powerful surged through his being, as the kiss deepened. Sensations, primeval in nature, but new as the moment, rained down upon him. He was awash with happiness and flooded with the want of her. She became liquid in his arms, surrendering herself to the heat of their kiss.

This torrent of emotion, was too much for him to bear. His mind was not yet strong. His world clouded, and confusion began to close in on him. To push away from her was like fighting the pull of a magnetic force. Somehow, he did and stood back with ragged breath and pounding heart, to look at her in the glooming light. His kiss had left its mark. Soft wisps of red hair, loosened from restraint, floated around her face, her blue eyes had turned dark with desire, her cheeks burned from his whiskers, and her parted lips were swollen and red. From a lost memory and from a nightly dream, the words came to him and he set them free, "Pret-ty Lady." '

So long, so very long, she had waited for his kiss, waited to hear again his beloved oft-uttered pledge of devotion. She bit her lip to stop the trembling and suppress her cry. The act did nothing to stop her tears or his. A beat passed and then another before she turned around and entered the small house and he followed.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

She did not read to him that night, and said, "sleep well' from the safety of the hallway outside his room. She shut the door, forming a barrier between them. Leaning back against the wall she closed her eyes and sighed.

Lilly was waiting for her in the kitchen, with a pot of tea steeping on the stove. Kitty poured herself a cup and sat down. Despite the inner turmoil caused by the events on the back porch step, it was time to settle a few things with the `ten-day girl.'

However, Lilly had an agenda of her own to discuss, and she didn't waste any time in pursuing it. She stood up and wagged a bony finger at Kitty, "You was out there in plain site! Anyone lookin' coulda seen what was goin on."

Kitty Russell had just gone through a day that had exhausted nearly every emotion capable to womankind; it was not her fault that she didn't catch Lilly's drift. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm a talkin' about Mr. Beaumont Davis, what kinda idee is he a goin' a get, ifn' he sees you an' Ol' Abe exchang'n spit right out in public."

Kitty took a drink of her tea and tried to appear calm and in control."What I do is my own business."

Lilly began pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other, talking all the way, arms flailing in dramatic gestures, "That may be as you see it, but it ain't what I sees. The richest man in Washington County is pay'n you court and you're outside amakin' love to your own brother."

"Brother-in-law," Kitty corrected, per her dossier, "and we weren't making love."

"AGIN that may be as you sees it, but it ain't what I seen. If'n he was a lookin' Missy, and he was on the river tonight in that there fishin' boat of his, I seen it for a fact ... you can KISS a fare theewell to any more INvites to that there big house of his."

Kitty fluttered her eyes with wounded indignation, "Lilly, as I said, this is none of your business, but since you insist on pursuing it, I don't mind telling you, I have no intention of ever going back to his house."

Lilly snorted, then she shook her head in exasperation, "You is one crazy lady! I done seen me some loonies at St Vinnie's, but you take the cake."

Kitty stared at her feeling the same sentiment toward the `ten-day girl', however after the day she'd just put in she couldn't read her own mind much less Lilly's. "Will you please tell me, what you are talking about?"

"Oh nothin' I ain't a talkin' about nothin'." Lilly's hands bracketed her skinny hips, "I reckon it's been a long day `n I ain't got the strength to fight with you no more. G'night."

She was gone from the room before Kitty had a chance to open her mouth to reply, or put forth her own litany of complaints in connection with Lilly's behavior. Just as well, she thought. At that point she was too tired to think and too numb to deal with anything more.


	18. Chapter 18

**eighteen**

Slumber was a long time coming that night, for her thinking and emotions were as jumbled and confused as Dillon's. Organized thought fell prey to desire too long held in check. When finally sleep came, it was restless, intermittent and clearly haunted by recently aroused memories of passion.

That next day dawned cooler, with gentle rain drumming lightly on the tin roof of the small cottage. If one had not a care in the world it would have been a good morning to sleep in. Such was not the case for Miss Kitty. Still, she lingered a while under the warm covers to go over the events of the day past and try to make the sense of them, that she'd been unable to the night before. One particular incident was hard to overlook, for her body still tingled at the memory the kiss evoked. Her cheeks flushed with the thought. More than ever she believed Matt would come back to her for she had felt the essence of the man she loved. Still, there was fear that he would never be what he once was, that he would always need her as a child needs a parent. If that were the case, then these feelings she was experiencing were wrong, almost immoral. It was hard to convince her body of that.

She considered too, the revelation that Beaumont's family must somehow be related to the notorious Colonel Barger. Certainly, to her eyes, there was nothing sinister about Beau Davis. She perceived him as a gentleman in the true sense of the word, kind and caring. The man hardly fit the image of one, scheming to overthrow the United States Government. There was however, no denying the disturbing appearance of the two unwanted visitors to Summerhaven, or Sebastian words announcing their arrival that seemed, even to Kitty, cloaked by some mysterious language of double talk.

Had Wilcox chosen this cottage so she and Matt would be in close proximity to Beaumont Davis? Had he anticipated Beau Davis would attempt to strike up a relationship? She'd only spoken to Mr. Wilcox once, but that was enough to realize the covert government commander did nothing without full deliberation of the consequences. The muscles of her neck and shoulders tensed and her head was beginning to ache from the stress. She sat up; tossed the covers to the side, and rose from the bed. Like a cat waking from sleep, she arched her back and then she stretched, drawing her hands high, nearly to the ceiling. Cartilage along her spine creaked and cracked affording a satisfying release from the tension.

As was her practice, the first stop she made each morning was the bedroom mirror. She was not a vain woman, but, she respected the advantage good looks gave her. There was a measure of reassurance to see her pretty face staring back from the looking glass. Picking up the brush she'd brought with her from Dodge, a brush Matt had gifted her with years earlier, she began running it through the tangled red tresses. She frowned, and her brow wrinkled, as tension returned. Undoubtedly , Wilcox was using her as he'd used Matt. She set down the brush and flexed and splayed her fingers. A knot of resentment clenched her stomach. No one used Kitty Russell. `No one', she pledged aloud.

A sense of urgency came over her; she was tired of following orders in someone else's army. It was time to take charge of her troops. Matt was physically healing from his wounds and the squalor of St Vincent 's. In a week's time he would be healthy enough to travel. Between the funds she'd carried with her from Dodge and the cash Wilcox had given her, she had enough money to set them up. The Secret Service, the law and Colonel Barger all wanted Matt, but she needed him more. She had to get him someplace safe, someplace where he could heal and become whole, but where? The Canadian Provinces seemed the likely choice, at least for now. She picked up the brush again and vigorously pulled it through her hair as she started working out a plan. She tried to remember the geography of the North Eastern United States, it seemed to her traveling through Pennsylvania, up to Buffalo, New York and then on to Toronto would be the quickest route to safety. She'd have to find a way to get train schedules and routes with out attracting suspicion. Once they were safe from Wilcox and the Band of Brothers, she would get word to Doc and Festus. The idea was empowering.

From the kitchen she heard Lilly singing. The `ten-day girl', sang much the way she played the piano. The off-key melody grated on Kitty's ears. She sighed. Lilly, well that was a whole other kettle of fish … friend or foe … she couldn't decide. One thing she figured for sure. For the duration of their stay in Davis Port, it was better to keep her under watch, than to dismiss her from sight.

With a fresh sense of purpose, Kitty dressed quickly, donning one of Mrs. Johnston's ensembles, a dark green taffeta skirt, topped by a matching plaid shirtwaist of polished cotton. She opened the topbutton of the neckline and propped up the collar. The style suited her. She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck, with a velvet ribbon and proceeded on to the kitchen.

Matt was sitting at the table holding a cup of Lilly's weak tea in both hands. He was quiet and didn't meet her eyes when she said "Good morning." However, unlike the previous day, he did respond with a flat, "G'mor-ing."

Lilly was at the stove, frying pancakes. She had a plate filled and nodded to Kitty, "Them's ready. You'n Abe kin dig right in on it."

She put three pancakes on Matt's plate, poured some maple syrup over them, and hastily cut them into bite size pieces, before setting the plate in front of him. Then, she did the same for herself. She took a seat at the table across from Dillon.

"Sorry I overslept, thanks for making breakfast, Lilly."

"Weren't no bother … I like cookin' … don't get much chance at it, livin' like I does."

She took a bite of the pancake, found it tasty and said so. To Dillon she asked, "Isn't it good Matt?"

Glossy eyed, he stared at his plate. "Good," was his pithy reply.

"I near fergot." Lilly said, the pitch of her voice elevated by excitement. She dug into her apron pocket, pulled out an envelope and handed it to Kitty. "Musta got slid under the door early this morning."

The envelope was of a fine linen texture, white and smelling of lilac water. The name, "Mrs. Kent" was embellished with flourishes and swirls. Using her butter knife, she broke the wax seal, removed the letter and scanned the contents.

_Dearest Miss Kitty,_

_I do so regret that business forced me to curtail our delightful visit yesterday. I hope I may prevail upon you to overlook my deplorable manners and accept an invitation to return to Summerhaven tomorrow. Grandmother has invited some of her dearest friends and she would love to have you meet them. On a more selfish note, I can think of nothing more pleasurable than to spend time with you. You are becoming very important to me Kitty Cat,_

_With fondest regards your devoted servant,_

_Beaumont T. Davis_

_P.S. Sebastian will pick you up at precisely 3:00 P.M._

Kitty had been sincere when she'd stated the night before; she wanted nothing more to do with Beaumont Davis. She now had a clear vision in focus … to get Matt well enough to escape from Wilcox, the Secret Service and anyone connected to the Band of Brothers. She was not going to allow herself to be sidetracked from that mission, for she believed Matt's life depended on it. She tore the letter in little pieces, and tossed them in the garbage. She glanced at Matt and noticed he was watching her. She gave him a smile and he responded with a slight lift to his lips. "Are you feeling okay?" she queried. His answer was a vacant stare, from unblinking eyes. She moved forward, worry shadowing her countenance. She pressed a hand to his brow, it was cool to the touch and she felt some relief that he wasn't fevered, but still she fretted.

Taking a step forward, Lilly confessed, "I gived him a pill. Not a whole one, just a half … he was getting' rambunctious like when I got him up." A small cloud of guilt passed over Lilly's features, "I figured you wouldn't want him taking a whole pill."

"I don't want him taking those pills at all. I want you to throw the rest away."

"Missy, that's just crazy talk."

"I mean it Lilly, empty your pocket and toss them in the fire."

"Looky here, ain't you noticed how he is after he's been dosed? His mind is together agin … he kin think … he kin feel, when he ain't dosed fer a while … why, he's in the funk - all ornery n' mixed in the head. Ain't you noticed that?"

She couldn't deny the truth to Lilly's words. He did seem to make his greatest strides forward after Lilly had dosed him. "There may be something to what you say." She paused and then conceded, "All right, we'll keep the pills, but, I want you to give them to me. I will decide from here on in, when and if he gets `dosed'."

Lilly dug into her pocket and grudgingly handed the drugs over to Kitty's waiting hand. There were about eight and one-half oblong pressed tablets. "Is that all of them?"

She pulled her pocket inside out, "Yes'm, looky here, if'n you don't believe me."

"I believe you." Kitty answered although there was not complete conviction in her words.

Lilly's nose pointed a degree North; it was her turn to ask a question, "What about that there invite? Why'd you tear it to bits?"

"How did you know it was an invitation?"

Lilly raised her sparse eyebrows, as she added hot water and soapflakes to the dishpan. "What else would it be?"

Kitty glanced again at Matt, still working on eating his pancakes. He was holding his fork with an awkward grip, which didn't allow for the point of the tines to contact the plate. She watched as he chased the last bite around, until he finally managed to spear the morsel. To Lilly, she answered, "It's none of your business, but since I know you won't stop pestering me until I answer it was an invitation, but I have no intention of accepting it."

Lilly rolled her eyes and began scrubbing the frying pan, while muttering something unintelligible under her breath.

Kitty finished her breakfast in silence and then cleared her plate and Matt's, handing them to Lilly to wash. She grabbed a dishrag and wiped down the table and stove. As the ladies worked, Matt remained at the table dozing where he sat, with his head lolling on his chest. When the chores were finished, Kitty sat down beside him and gently rubbed his arm trying to rouse him. After a moment, he looked at her blurry eyed and then promptly fell back to sleep. Kitty gave Lilly an evil look, to which the other woman responded, with a shrug of her shoulders, "Might be some coffee would help."

Kitty was an expert coffee maker. She'd had years of practice, hurriedly sobering up drunken husbands, in the effort to make them appear presentable, for their fastidious church-going wives. It was just one of her many skills as a saloon owner. She brewed a strong pot and sat at the table holding the steaming cup as Matt sipped from it. Without much wait, the caffeine did its job and before long Dillon was moderately aware and attentive.

Lilly stood at the sink, dishtowel tossed over her shoulder and hands on her hips, "You gots him awake, now watcha gonna do with him?"

Kitty sighed and silently echoed Lilly's question. She was a card playing, drink pouring, husband sobering, saloon girl of dubious moral background. She had no training for this sort of task. She forced logic and practicality to her mind. Once she and Matt made their escape, most certainly they would be hunted down, criminals with a bounty on their heads. Despite his great size, Matt would need to blend in to society; there could be nothing unusual to draw untoward attention to them. With a sinking heart she realized it would be impossible to travel with Dillon and not attract notice, he was like a giant bearded four-year old. Her shoulders sloped down and her head followed course as the weight of their situation settled back upon her. Her only recourse was to convince Wilcox that Matt was not improving and ask him to remove them from this situation to safety.

Wilcox had told her they would be under surveillance, but she had seen nothing of the man in the past week. From the corner of her eye she caught Lilly studying her, with a poker face on, if ever she'd seen one. If Kitty had not known better, she would have guessed the ten-day girl had an ace up her sleeve.

Well, this saloon gal had a few tricks of her own too, and she wasn't above cheating to win the hand either. Wilcox wasn't messing with an amateur. She turned to look at Lilly head on. She smiled, and the meaning conveyed was not friendship or camaraderie but the knowledge of a secret revealed. She'd been a card player long enough to know the value of patience. If you stay in the game long enough the joker always turns up.


	19. Chapter 19

**nineteen**

She spent the next hour sitting at the kitchen table with Matt. She brought out the writing tablets and lead pencils she'd purchased at the Emporium, along with the big picture Alphabet book, and began showing him how to form letters and numbers. His first attempts were not very good, for he gripped the pencil too hard and broke the lead. She pried his fingers loose and showed him again how to hold the writing utensil. The second efforts were better.

Lilly stood in the doorway watching them, giving Kitty an uneasy feeling. Her suspicions of Lilly were forming a solid base, but she needed a little more data before drawing a final conclusion. "Sit at the table next to Matt." Kitty offered, "We'll play school."

"School? I ain't never gone but a week, when I was nine. Weren't there long anuff to get teached nuthin'."

"Well, sit down then, this may be your big chance." She handed Lilly a tablet and a lead pencil of her own. They went from A to Z, printing each in large capitol letters. Lilly's results were no better than Matt's worst effort, but Kitty had a sense that the woman was working at appearing inept. Dillon on the other hand was making steady improvement. Indeed, as he progressed through the alphabet his penmanship became more confident, even bolder. After the rocky start, he hardly needed more than gentle guidance.

Sitting there, Lilly gave a quick side-glance at Matt's paper and then spoke, "Miss Kitty, I always fancied to write my name proper like."

"I'd be glad to show you " at the top of a clean page, Kitty wrote out Lilly's name. "What's your last name?" she asked.

"Ain't got one leastwise, not one I remembers."

Kitty looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "We'll work on a last name later, for now, Just copy what I wrote. Do a whole page of your name."

He'd been watching and now he made a similar request. Pointing to his paper he said, "Me do it, Matt do it."

By the end of the lesson, both Matt and Lilly could copy Kitty's lettering. Even after Lilly had left the kitchen to tidy up her sleeping area, Matt continued to practice his name; with each attempt his penmanship came closer to the handwriting she was familiar with. She moved to stand next to him watching over his efforts. "Very good."She praised.

He took a second sheet of paper from his writing tablet. "Matt …" he said. "Matt Dil-lon." As she watched he formed with painstaking care the letters of his last name, which she hadn't shown him how to write."D-i-l-l-o-n," he said again, "Matt Dillon."

Kitty swallowed hard, for as pleased and surprised as she was by the effort, and verification that his mind was returning, it was also hard evidence that could be used by both Wilcox or Barger should the paper come in to their hands. She took a deep breath to balance herself,"Good work, Why don't you pick out a book for us to read on the sunporch." He nodded and left the room, when he was gone, she took the paper, on which was written his full name, crumbled it to a ball and tossed it into the stove.

By mid-day the rain had stopped and the sun had broken through the clouds. "Let's go for a walk." She suggested. Her objective was two-fold, for she realized the need to build up Matt's stamina, but she also felt the necessity to get away from Lilly's watchful eye.

He jumped eagerly to his feet, "Wall-k." He said, "I walk." And he took three great steps forward, spun around and took three giant steps back before he sat down again.

"Yes, you walk, but I meant let's walk outside."

His face brightened, "Fish?" he asked.

"No fish, we'll just walk … and talk."

"Taww-k, I tawww-k."

"Yes, you talk." His feet were bare. "You need your shoes." She said.

"No."

"Yes. Put them on!"

"No."

He was trying her patience with this shoe issue, but she suspected his autonomous stand a healthy sign. She made a bargain, or a bribe, depending on how you looked at it. "You put your shoes on for our walk, and we'll go fishing later."

He frowned, and gave a reluctant nod of his head, "Shoes." He said unenthusiastically.

Twenty minutes later they were walking up the road toward the heart of town. The first block he had taken exaggerated steps as he attempted to get used to the constraints of shoe leather. "Shoes." He grumbled."Bad shoes. Need boots."

"Boots?" she couldn't remember ever saying the word to him. "Why boots?"

"I like boots."

"You wear the shoes for now, and I promise, someday we'll get you apair of boots."

"Someday. Someday boots."

The road wasn't busy, just an occasional passing buggy or wagon. She saw Matt was showing interest in their surroundings and she made comments of all they observed. She talked about the houses and children outside playing; she talked about mothers in the kitchen and fathers at work.

"Work?" he asked.

"Jobs to make money, so they can pay for things. Shopkeepers, doctors, farmers, ranchers … " She rattled off a list of occupations, knowing he wasn't understanding half of what she was telling him.

"Doc - tors?" He repeated the word, putting emphasis on the first syllable. "Doc." He said again, forgetting the last half of the word. She had an urge to stop him in his tracks and shake the memories from him, for she could see they were close to the surface now, but she held back. Once they were free from this place, once she had convinced Wilcox, Matt could be of no help to him, then she would talk to him about everything.

After a while, they walked in silence. She thinking about the best of times, when Matt was strong of mind and body, and wondering if they would ever see them again. Unconsciously, she had picked up the pace, and in his weakened state Matt had difficulty keeping up with her.

"Home." he said a little breathlessly, "Home. Go home."

"Are you getting tired?" she asked.

"Tired, go home."

"All right." And they turned around and started back.

They had walked twenty paces when he spoke again, "Dodge." He said.

"What?" she asked, and this time she did stop in her tracks. She grabbed his arm and gave it a little shake. "What did you say?""Home … Dodge … Matt and Kitty, go home to Dodge."

"Dodge?"

He smiled and it was plain he was seeing something in his memories eye. He nodded his head and his grin grew wider. "Matt and Kitty, go home to Doc. Go home to Dodge."


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty**

His speech and grammar improved throughout the day. Before long, he was speaking in simple but complete sentences. After supper that night, he helped her haul the rowboat, which was housed in a shed behind the cottage, down to the river. As they watched the bottom of the boat fill with water, he stated, "The boat leaks - need pine-tar pitch to fix leak."

She looked at him with amazement on her face; the elation in her voice betrayed the ordinary words she spoke, "I'll see about getting some tomorrow."

Together, Matt and Kitty pulled the boat back out of the water and tipped it over so it could drain. They picked up their fishing poles, which were leaning against the shed, and headed over to the birch grove. He had dug for night crawlers that afternoon, stating simply,"no worms, no fish." Dillon held the tin can filled with dirt and active worms like it was a rare treasure.

They sat down under the leafy shade, to avoid the blazing setting sun. Without comment, he baited her hook first, and then his own. "Tonight we catch fish," He promised.

"Fish for breakfast," she concurred.

On the far side of the river Beaumont Davis, was trying his luck at fishing as well. He saw the pair under the birch trees and apparentlydecided to cast his line for a different quarry. For in no time at all he had rowed to their side of the bank.

When he was close enough to converse, without speaking to the entire river community, he did so. "Mrs. Kent, did you receive my invitation."

Kitty stood up and walked to the river's edge. "Yes, I did Mr. Davis, and I must decline your offer."

"But why, my dear? I apologize again for the disruption to yesterday's visit. Though I try hard to ignore it, business does have a way of disturbing pleasure." He smiled, and she noticed again how brilliantly white his teeth were. Perhaps it was just the angle of the setting sun, which highlighted them so.

"My brother needs me. He's my priority. But, I thank you for the thought. Please extend my apologies to your Grandmother."

He looked crestfallen; "All the same, I'll send Sebastian around with the carriage tomorrow afternoon, just in case you change your mind."He picked up his oars and paddled away before she could voice objection.

She returned to Matt's side. "Don't like." He said.

"You don't like Mr. Davis."

"Bad man." He stated simply.

"Why do you say that?"

"Sun teeth."

"Sun teeth? Oh, you mean they shine like the sun?"

"White sun teeth."

"Well you can't just dislike someone because they have clean white teeth. That doesn't make them bad. I like to think my teeth are clean and white. You like me, don't you?"

A swell of frustration surged, she wasn't listening to what he was saying. With the immediacy of a bullet wound, pain shot through his skull. He linked his hands behind his neck and cradled his head tightly in his arms. He grimmaced, as the ache grew in intensity, "Shoe." His voice was laced in agony. "Kick head …shoe ... sun teeth … white … laugh … laugh … me … head … shoe …" Disjointed words were spilling from his mouth.

She stared at him, mouth agape. Color left her face. Her heart stopped beating for a moment and then pounded with the intensity of a military band, as his words hit home.

He stumbled to his feet and ran with awkward gait to the cottage. She followed, leaving poles and worms behind. She caught up with him in the kitchen, but he pushed her away - the throbbing in his head blocking everything but the image of sun teeth and fine leather shoes.

He staggered to his room and collapsed on his bed, curling himself in a fetal position; he rocked and moaned with each anguished spasm.

She stood over him. Shaking, sweat pouring from her body. "Matt! Oh Matt …" She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying with his agony. "How can I help? What can I do?" Came her muffled sob, but even as she said the words, she knew, she had the power to end his pain. With surprisingly steady hand, she extracted an oblong pill from her pocket and forced it down his throat.


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty-one**

It was midnight and she was still pacing back and forth, as if she were a caged circus lion looking for a way out. She wrung hands, and they hurt from the effort, for it had been repeated too many times.

Lilly had come into his room shortly after Kitty had administered the pill. "Good." She said, "I see you dun took my advice. I could tell he was headed fer the funk, I know it were a hard thing to do, but you'll see it was the right thing. You want, I should set with him a spell?"

"Thank you, no. I'll stay with him. You go on to bed." That had been four hours earlier, and now here she was still in his room, still wondering if she'd done the right thing.

Her pacing continued and with each step another worry came to the forefront. There were so many questions and so few answers. Without doubt, her primary concern was for Matt's health. Pain like that, couldn't be normal. Oh, how she wished Doc were there to tell her what to do - to work his healing magic on Matt. The thought of Adams brought her back to Matt's request earlier that day. "Go home to Dodge, home to Doc." Was he telling her something more than a mere childlike request? How could she know for certain? Oh, how she wished they could go home to Doc. That kind good soul would certainly know what to do. She replayed the day's events in her mind and felt cornered by the danger she was sure they were in. She thought about how well Matt had seemed when they took the rowboat from the storage shed and tested its water worthiness. He'd known just what was needed to fix the craft."Pine tar." He'd told her. "Fix the leak with pine tar."

She paced the room three more times before she asked herself again,was there a message he was trying to convey in regard to the boat? The boat? It was a means of escape, why hadn't she seen it before? Doc Adams and the boat. Maybe they couldn't get to Dodge, but could they get Doc to them? He would know what to do. The boat and the river - they could travel by moonlight, and could be miles away before anyone suspected them missing. Full moon was two weeks away - if she could get word to Doc to meet them somewhere downriver. Mail took at least ten days to reach Kansas from the East Coast, a telegram wasn't safe, too easily could it be intercepted by Wilcox or Barger. It would take Doc three days by train to get to them. Down river. What town would be down river … she thought hard … twenty five miles down river was Mt. Morris. It was large enough to get lost in for a time, but small enough that Adams would be able to find them. Doc could come to them, maybe even bring Festus with him. Confluent thoughts were traveling through her brain at rapid speed. What seemed a muddled mess suddenly had form and substance. Down river - a smile brightened her face. She'd need to get word to Doc as soon as possible. She'd go to the post office first thing in the morning, before Matt awoke. Oh, it would be a tricky thing … but it was hope incarnate.

She managed not more than a couple hours sleep that night, but she was filled with energy when she awoke from her slumber. Before bed, she'd composed a short note to Doc on a piece of paper, from the writing tablet Matt had practiced his name on. Her words were succinct; almost abstract, fearing the possibility her note might fall into the wrong hands. Her signature was only the letter "K". She scoured the small secretary in her room for an envelope and found one, creased and yellowed with age. She used candle wax to seal it, imprinting the tallow with the impression of her cameo broach, so Doc would know it was she. Satisfied, she had at last taken some control over their destiny, Kitty went to bed.

At sun up, Kitty rose. She dressed simply, donning a white blouse and black gabardine skirt and wescot, that she'd brought with her from Dodge. She pulled on her sturdy boots for the long walk to town. When thus attired, she checked on Matt. He was stirring, although not fully awake. Without thought beyond the moment, she went to the kitchen. Placing one of Lilly's oblong pills on the cutting board she proceeded to slice it in fourths. Returning to Dillon's side, she slipped a small piece in his mouth and watched as he swallowed it.

She threw on a black cape and with the envelope tucked in her handbag,she tiptoed past Lilly's cot in the parlor and was just about at the front door, when Lilly called out, "Where you sneakin' off to?"

Kitty cleared her throat, "I wasn't sneaking anywhere. It's a pleasant morning and I thought I'd go for a walk. I won't be gone too long. Keep an eye on Matt for me, would you please?"

She was sitting up on the cot, her stringy hair standing at odd angles to her head, and her bony body looking even scrawnier in a muslin nightgown too large for her skinny frame. "Curious thing, you headin' out afore breakfast."

"Not curious at all, I've always enjoyed an early morning walk." She opened the door and let her self out before Lilly could voice any further comment.

The air was brisk. There was a wind today that sent the golden leaves falling from the trees like rains from the heavens. They made a scrunch-swish sound as she walked through them. She wasn't sure where the post office was but figured no doubt; it was not far from Town Square. She quickened her pace to combat the chill.

She was halfway there when she noticed a small covered delivery wagon approaching from the opposite direction, being pulled by a team of elderly mares. Some yards in front of her the driver pulled the horses to a stop. She noted the name Yeoman's Meats painted neatly on the side. The driver jumped down from his seat and walked in her direction. The heavily bearded man wore a leather cap, pulled low, and thick spectacles, which were perched on the end of his nose. Her heart beat fast as she realized he was coming to her.


	22. Chapter 22

**Twenty-two**

"Going somewhere Miss Russell?" The man asked.

Up close, she could see he was built like an iron bull, all muscle and steel. She didn't let his size intimidate her. "Who are you?"

His voice was friendly too friendly, "The name's Charlie Yeoman." He pointed in the direction of his delivery wagon and repeated the advertising slogan printed below the name of his business, "Meat any fresher and it'd still be on the hoof."

"How do you know me?"

"Just figured it was you. See, I was on my way to pay you a little visit."

She braced her stance, "Why?"

"The street's no place to talk. Come with me."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Yes Miss, you are." He took her elbow in his strong grasp and forced her forward.

She resisted. "Wait a minute here, you can't …"

"I can and I am."

"I'll scream."

His voice was low, but she heard every word of what he said, "No, you won't. You care too much what happens to Matt Dillon."

Energy and resistance left her body for a moment, weakening her, and she allowed herself to be guided to the delivery wagon. He assisted her to the seat and jumped up beside her. "We can talk here. The sound of the wheels and the horses will cover up our voices, long as we don't get too loud."

"Say what you have to say … I'm tired of games."

He nodded his head, adjusted the bill of his leather cap and fluffed his beard. He released the break and gave the reins a snap, one horse whinnied and they both began moving. The rattle of the wagon, and the clip-clop of hooves against cobblestone drowning out the sound of his voice, to all but the woman sitting next to him, "Like I said, name is Charlie Yeoman. You might have noticed my advertising card when you moved into that little cottage of yours."

She nodded her head.

"I work for Wilcox and he's got a message for you." He waited a beat for her to react, when she didn't he continued. "He wants you to be real friendly-like with Beaumont Davis. See, Mr. Wilcox has had his eye on the comings and goings out at Summerhaven. You might have already figured out there's more to Mr. Davis than meets the eye. In fact his Uncle is none other than Captain Barger. Word has it things are going to start to happen real quick … I think you know enough of our situation to realize we can't let that come to pass."

"Even if I was willing, what makes you think I can help?"

"Ol' Beau likes you."

She shook her head, "I didn't sign up to be a part of this. You tell Wilcox, Matt isn't getting any better. He owes Matt; he's responsible for what happened to him. I want Wilcox to arrange for Matt and I to get out of this mess. You tell him that!"

Charlie chuckled, "You are one bossy lady. Guess you don't know Mr. Wilcox that well. See, he'll take care of you and Dillon, but first things first - you got to finish the job Matt started, one way or the other."

"If, and that's a mighty big if … I agree, what exactly does he expect of me."

"Simple Miss, spend all the time you can with Davis … keep your ears and eyes open and report all you see and hear to us."

"It won't work."

"Why?"

"I've seen the way he looks at Matt … he knows who he is."

"He might, as far as it goes, hard to say. But one thing's certain, he likes you. He's always been a sucker for moonlight and a pretty gal, who knows how to sweet-talk him. Might say he's a romantic, I`spect, he'd believe anything your pretty lips told him, long as it was accompanied by a kiss or two. Besides, he's not the mastermind of this operation; we're still not sure who is. You're smart. Anyone can see that. We figure you will be able to help us find out. Once we have that information, you and Matt will be off the hook. Wilcox will see to it that you're set up some place safe, with enough money to get you by real comfortable like."

"No. I want out now." Unconsciously, she tightened the hold on her handbag, which contained the letter to Doc.

Her white-knuckled grip aroused his suspicion, "You never did tell mewhere you were heading."

She stared at the road in front of them, "Just a walk, I was taking awalk. No law against that, is there?"

"What are you protecting in that reticule of yours?"

"None of your business."

"Might be it is." He reached over and snatched it from her hand.

She lunged for it, "Give that back." He parried her feint with a thick forearm and at the same time pried open the purse and removed the envelope.

"What have we got here?" he said as he ripped the letter free and examined the contents. He gave a dry smile when he reached the end."Won't work Missy … you gotta play by our rules. There's more at stake here than you and your precious Matt Dillon. There are men out there, bad men, that want to see this country in shambles so's they can take it over and reap all the riches the United States has to offer. Don't you see? Folks like us, we don't matter much in the grand scheme of things, except in times like these, for what little we can do to preserve the Union."

"It's not fair."

His voice was warmer, almost compassionate, "No Miss, it ain't fair, it wasn't fair either that nearly 700,000 men, many not more than boys, were killed or wounded in the War Between the States. They were fighting for something they believed in … both sides, North and South… their sacrifice should mean something to us."

There was a bitter taste in her mouth. She said nothing, turning her head away from him, so he couldn't see the emotions passing over her face. They were almost back to the cottage. Lilly was standing at the front door watching their approach.

Kitty nodded her head in submission, her voice was flat, "Tell me what you want from me."

"Like I said before, be real nice to Beaumont Davis, just keep doing what you've been doing. I'll drop by every few days with a delivery, you can tell me what you've found out. No one will be the wiser."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't for sure … in this game, you can't trust no one … you got to have your wits about you at all times. One thing I can tell you. If you need me, you'll know where to find me."

"Where?"

He chuckled again, "Yeoman Meat Market - any fresher and it'd still be on the hoof!"


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-three**

He opened his eyes to sunlight. A beam had escaped the drawn curtain, and aimed its bright ray directly at his face. He blinked, and then allowed his gaze to scan the room. She wasn't there. She had been earlier. In fact he had sensed her presence most of the night. She had drugged him, and he was aware of that fact as well. He understood the reason. She had released him from the pain he'd been suffering. The pain was a real memory. It had hit him suddenly, with the only warning, an aura of pulsating lights that had danced in front of his eyes, before the pain took hold, banging, banging at his skull like a sledgehammer. A twinge returned and he pushed the memory from his mind.

Kitty. He smiled at the thought of her. Everything about her made him smile. Her gentle touch, her kind voice, her laugh that seemed to melt the very of heart of him. Kitty. He sat up in bed, and his head felt heavy, he knew the feeling. It would take conscious effort on his part to fight the effects of the pill. In the past, he hadn't fought the drugged state, finding the security of oblivion a kinder alternative to reality. Not today, no today, he wanted to spend every waking minute in her company. Still, his head was heavy. With elbows on knees, he rested his head in his hands and fought a wave of dizziness. It took a moment for the feeling to pass. When it had, he rose to his feet. He was still dressed in yesterday's clothes. He figured the pants would be fine, but he should put on a clean shirt. She'd like that. He found one hanging on a hook, and with his long lean fingers he manipulated the buttons of the shirt he took off, and the one he put on, with the nimbleness of a six year old. It was an improvement, for once finished, every button and button hole was perfectly aligned.

There was a small washstand and mirror in the corner of his room. He had to bend his knees in order to peer into the looking glass. A towel rested on one side of the basin and a comb on the other. He took the comb and ran it through his unruly, dark wavy hair; the comb did little to tame his cowlick. With both hands he splashed water on his head and tried the comb again. He looked in the mirror and considered his face, staring deep into the blue eyes of the image reflected there. He studied his thick eyebrows, his substantial nose and his hairy cheeks. His coarse whiskers had grown to a heavy beard. He ran the fingers of his hand over the whiskers several times. For the first time in his memory, the facial hair seemed unnatural to him. With the fingers of both hands, he pulled the hair on his cheeks until it stood an inch away from his skin. "No like." He said in a low voice and then with a frown and a conscious effort to improve his grammar, he rephrased his statement. "I not like hair on face." He thought of Kitty, and he wondered how she felt about his beard. He would find out, he decided. Leaning his head over the wash basin, he splashed more water, this time on his face. Picking up the towel, he vigorously dried himself off, causing eyebrows and beard to stand on end. Thus, he left his room, hair slicked but beard and eyebrows in disarray. His feet were bare and he was happy.

He went to the kitchen ready to greet her. "G'monring." But, she wasn't there, nor was Lilly. He looked through the dining room, to the parlor where Lilly slept, and saw her bed had already been put away. A poke of panic gave spasm to his heart. He returned to kitchen, and then to the sun porch. he looked from the windows, before stepping out the back door, visually searching up and down the banks of the river. "Kitty, Kitty." He called. He listened, but there was no answer. He was not used to being alone. He was worried now, frightened for himself and for her. "Kitty …" He called again. Then the thought came to him; maybe she was still asleep. She was still in her room in bed. He relaxed. He smiled. He would wake her up. Inspiration hit, he would kiss her awake like the prince in a fairy tale she'd read to him. Yes, that seemed his best idea yet. On stealthy feet, he approached, and opened the door to her room. The curtains were open and sunlight flooded the empty room. Her bed was not made, the covers lay in a rumple and her pillow at an odd angle. Yesterday's clothes were still in a heap on the floor.

He walked across the room to pick her skirt up from the floor, as he did, something dropped out of the pocket. He turned his head to see what had fallen. Sunlight reflected against a shinny tin object laying in repose against her delicate lacy camisole. He bent, his arm stretched, his fingers reached forward, and he touched the badge, his badge. Time stopped. Time reversed, and like the opening of Pandora's box, he was suddenly and brutally aware of all.


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty-four**

He dropped to his knees. Memories inundated his consciousness, flooding his senses. In his mind he heard the echoing blast of gunfire, smelled the acrid smoke. His throat and nostrils burned from the recall. Beating in his brain were the anguished cries of the men who'd died by his bullet.

The evil he'd witnessed in his life outweighed ten-fold the good he'd known, for he'd seen war and fought injustice since he'd been old enough to lift his father's gun. The pain in his head the night before, now lodged deep in his heart, his soul was heavy and the burden was more than a mere mortal could be expected to carry. He fell forward, burying his face in the soft folds of Kitty's clothes.

His identity and history attacked him with repeated blows. Matt Dillon, Texas Third Infantry, Matt Dillon, Marshal Matt Dillon, Dodge City, Kansas, Matt Dillon. Dodge City, Gomorrah of the Plains. Front Street and the back alleys down by the red light district came alive, as every villain he'd ever faced marched through his mind like some macabre Machiavellian parade.

But even as he faced the evil, even as he longed to run, to hide, to deny he'd ever known their existence, distant vows of oath reverberated in his soul, becoming louder and stronger until they all but drowned out the need to flee.

_"Bound by honor and duty, I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of United States Marshal on which I am about to enter. So help me God."_

Bound by honor. His fingers wrapped around the badge, the star, ensign of knightly rank, the hallmark of honor. His fragile body grew muscle, like the lifting of a sorcerer's curse; he felt might and zeal surge through his being. Honor bound to duty and the badge. He pulled himself up, the bedpost his staff. Courage and purpose became his support and he released the hold - to stand tall and valiant, noble and true.

**GS GS GS GS GS **

Charlie Yeoman pulled his rig to a standstill in front of the little house on Lincoln and set the brake. He made a move to get down so he could assist Kitty, but she stopped him, "No need." She said as she lowered herself to the street. Once there, she adjusted her clothing, and squared her shoulders.

The butcher leaned over the side of the wagon, and spoke to her in a quiet voice; "You spend the afternoon at Summerhaven, like we talked about. Make note of anything that seems remotely suspicious. I'll be by tomorrow morning around 8:00. You can tell me what you found out then."

Her lips turned inward, to hold back the words she wanted to scream at him. Instead she answered with a silent hateful stare.

"If anything urgent comes up." He said, pulling a faded red bandanna from his back pocket, "tie this here to the newel post on the porch."He held the red cloth out to her. She eyed it, weighing her alternatives, and it was several moments before she grabbed it from Yeoman. Without further word, she turned her back on him and walked up the path to the cottage. She passed Lilly standing on the porch, "You okay, Ma'am?" she asked and grabbed Kitty's arm with her hand.

"What's it to you?" Kitty responded.

Lilly released the hold; her voice was lower than usual, "I don't want nothin' bad to happen to you."

Kitty gave a sardonic chuckle, "A little late for that, now isn't it?" She pushed Lilly out of her way, and entered the cottage. The`ten-day girl', followed close on her heels. Kitty stopped in her tracks and spun around, facing Lilly head on, "Leave me be."

Startled, Lilly took a step back, "If'n that's what you want."

"That's the least of what I want - but the most I'm likely to get." Her beautiful face was almost ugly with despair. A need strong and indefinable compelled her to be with Matt or what was left of him, to draw what meager strength she might from his weakened reserve. She walked to the kitchen and then to the little hall, which led to the bedrooms. Looking towards Matt's room first, she saw the bed , she took a step forward, but then heard the squeak of floorboard and bedpost and turned in surprise to look in the opposite direction. There she saw him, hallowed by sunlight. Immediately, instinctively, she knew he'd come back - not to her, as she might have hoped but to honor and to the badge. For he could not love her as much as he did, loved he not honor and the badge more.

He said her name and she ran to him, falling into his open arms. They held together tight. No words were spoken. Her head, pressed against his beating heart, by hands so strong, there was nothing; she was certain, that could defeat them. His chin rested atop her flaming hair and he inhaled the sweet scent that was uniquely her, breathing in the courage, she would have denied she possessed. Each drawing upon the other until they both felt fit to face the battle ahead.

She drew a shaky breath, and he spoke, "It's alright Kitty, it's going to be alright." She turned her head to look up into his face and accept his lips in a kiss, which sealed the promise.

They remained together until Lilly entered the room; even then, though the embrace had ended, they remained connected.

"Are you back with us Matthew?" Lilly asked, with a voice, which seemed to belong to someone else.

"I'm back Frankie … I'm back."


	25. Chapter 25

**Twenty-five**

Kitty stepped back and stared at Dillon and then at Lilly. Dread hit the bottom of her stomach with a thud, "Matt?" she questioned, fearing he was still confused. "This is Lilly, the ten-day girl. She took care of you when you were at St. Vincent's. She came here to help me get you well."

Dillon winced for although strength had returned, pain was still with him. "Kitty, let me introduce you to Miss Francine Wright … she's one of us, a Wilcox recruit. I've known her a long time … she did some nursing during the war. Took care of me when I was wounded at Chickamauga. She's got more guts than just about any woman I've ever known."

Frankie made a graceful curtsy, and offered an apology with a refined voice, an octave lower than Lilly's. "I apologize Kitty. I couldn't tell you the truth. Mr. Wilcox wanted it that way. I imagine, he wanted to see which side you buttered your bread on. Theirs or ours."

Now it was Kitty who felt weak-kneed and faint. She sat down rather abruptly on her bed. "I don't understand. I don't understand any of this." She looked to Matt, with confusion blurring her vision.

Matt moved to sit close beside her. "Frankie." He said over his shoulder. "Why don't you brew us a pot of coffee, Kitty and I'll be out in a few minutes."

Frankie nodded and left the room, shutting the door softly behind. Alone, together, Matt reached for Kitty's hand. He studied it, turning it over in his own, before bringing it to his lips and softly kissing her palm. Lowering her hand, he grabbed its mate and held tightly to them both. "I hate that you're mixed up in this - I told Wilcox, when it all started, I didn't want you involved."

She inhaled deeply, before responding. "Well, I am involved, up to my eyeballs, as Festus would say."

"We have to get you out of here, we have to get you back to Dodge."

Ignoring his words, she offered a grim smile. "I met another one of your `friends' this morning, Charlie Yeoman."

Dillon swallowed. "Charlie? Things must be moving right along, then."

"He wants me to cozy up to Beaumont Davis."

Matt let go of her hands and stared straight ahead, disconnecting himself from her. It was a typical Dillon move; a gunfight, a range war, chasing bank robbers or cattle thieves, it was always the same, leaving her behind and moving on to battle alone. "No! No, you take the next train back to Dodge. I can handle things from here."

Her reaction too, was predictable."We're in this together, Cowboy."

His tone was stern and all U.S. Marshal. "I can't let you, it's too dangerous." He stood up and with his back to her, moved to the window.

She followed and forced him to turn and look at her. Her voice was soft, vulnerable. "Oh Matt … are you really back? I was so frightened… but I'm not anymore … not with you here."

God knows, he fought to remain detached, but he was caught by the love in her eyes. Her hands found his again, squeezing them gently until he returned the caress. He shook his head, damming his weakness and yet rejoicing at the union which made him strong. They remained that way - silhouetted in the window frame, saying volumes without speaking a word.

There was a knock at the door, before it opened. "Coffee's ready. I am sorry to rush you, but we don't have a lot of time before Kitty leaves for Summerhaven."

His eyes never left Kitty's as he replied, "We'll be right there Frankie." His lips touched Kitty's cheek with a fleeting kiss. "We'll be right there."


	26. Chapter 26

**twenty-six**

Fifteen minutes later, Kitty was sitting next to Matt at the kitchen table while Frankie poured the coffee. A plate of day old sliced bread and raspberry preserves served as their breakfast. She had no appetite but from force of habit, buttered a piece of bread for Dillon and for herself. She spoke directly to Frankie. "Matt said you nursed him during the war."

"That's right, I did." Without rising from his seat, Dillon reached over and pulled a chair out for Frankie and she sat down. "I nearly forgot about that. I met Mr. Wilcox, we called him Colonel in those days, about the same time I met Matt, He thought I might be more valuable working undercover … " She raised a pale eyebrow at Kitty."Before I knew it, I was nursing the rebels … a man in delirium is apt to spill secrets, be it fever or passion induced … I reported my findings back to Wilcox."

"And, you've been working for him ever since?"

Frankie took a drink of her coffee and shrugged her shoulders. "After Appomattox …" There was an unexpected hitch in her voice. Her words caught in her throat, she swallowed hard before she was able to continue, "You see Kitty, the man I was in love with, died. His name was Jacob Schmidt. Jake. We were betrothed. Oh, he was a wonderful man, a lot like your Matt in many ways. In fact Jacob and Matt were good friends. Jake was killed in battle early on. It broke my heart, and those aren't just words, they are the truth, that's why I went into nursing, and it's why I agreed to work for Mr. Wilcox. I know what I do has meaning, a purpose, as it were, so I continue working for him, in whatever capacity he feels is warranted."

"I'm confused … Beau Davis seemed to know you … or know Lilly."

"Lilly was a habitual ten-day girl who died of an opium overdose five months ago. When we found out where Matt was, I took on her persona. Sad, isn't it that no one recognized the difference?"

"Frankie? Your limp … your teeth?"

Her tongue went to fill the gap in her smile, "Part of the hazards of the job, I've been roughed up a few times. I never was picture pretty, like you. I was passable though."

Dillon reached out, "You still are Frankie; beauty takes all forms."

She flushed at his words and covered the embarrassment with a laugh,"Look whose talking like a poet, Kitty. Yesterday we couldn't get boo out of him!"

The saloon keeper, who'd know her own brand of tragedies, recognized true courage when she saw it. Frankie had revealed her broken heart as a mark of trust. But, now it was time to move on and Kitty followed her lead. "Watch out when a man starts to sweet talk you."

"Don't I know it, sure sign they want more than a thank you."

Matt held his hands up, "Hey, don't start ganging up on me." He said.

"Sorry Matt … I imagine you're still a might addled in the head. We'll take it easy on you for a bit." Turning back to Kitty she asked, "Are you with us?"

"Tell me what I need to do."

"That depends. What did Charlie tell you?"

"I'm supposed to keep my date with Beau this afternoon."

"No you're not." Dillon declared, with an uncompromising voice. "She's going home to Dodge City, just as soon as it can be arranged." He set his coffee cup down, and it rattled against the saucer spilling forth the contents. His movements were slightly disjointed, and it was clear while his mind had returned there were after effects of the head trauma that he would need to deal with. He flexed his fingers and stared at them for a moment before rising to his feet. Again, his movements were not completely controlled. "She's not a part of this. "

Frankie stood too, "I'm afraid she is, she knows too much now … we can't let her go." There was a tremor to his left hand and he shoved it in his pants pocket to cover the shake. Kitty had noticed, and her eyes caught Frankie's, who had seen it as well. Both chose not to speak of it.

Kitty Russell addressed Frankie, "Tell me what I need to know … what I need to look for."

"We believe Beaumont Davis is nothing more than a pawn in the operation. Summerhaven and Emporium are the big players. Beau tries to turn a blind eye to the comings and goings of the Band of Brothers. Captain Barger is his uncle, but they don't share the same ideology. Beau craves the gentle life; he's content with a fine house and a business to look after. Where the money comes from to finance his extravagances, he apparently prefers to overlook. It appears more often than not Beau will plan a 'business' trip, and that's when Captain Barger shows up. That's the reason we weren't too concerned with Davis recognizing Matt."

"What about his grandmother, Regina Louisa Barger?" Kitty asked.

"Captain Barger is her son, certainly there is loyalty … but we believe she has been shielded from the uglier aspects of her offspring's dealings."

Matt was standing with his back to them. His voice was distant, as a memory came into focus, "She tried to help me."

"What?" Frankie asked.

"I was wounded … shot in the back. They took me to Summerhaven. I was nearly out of my head with pain, fever. She told Barger I needed a doctor or I'd die." It hurt to think, but Dillon forced the recollection to the surface, "He said no, said it was too dangerous for the Brothers. When he was out of the room, she coaxed me to my feet, and out of the house. I was weak; I tried not to lean on her. I was too heavy for her. Somehow we made it out the front door to the yard. She had a buggy waiting. I tried to pull myself into the buggy, she tried to help, but, I collapsed, and she fell too. I remember the sun was hot, shinning bright. Barger came and saw his mother crying in pain … saw she'd tried to help me."

"He kicked you!" Kitty finished. "He kicked you in the head."

Dillon nodded. "Sun teeth, and fancy shoes, that's the last recollection I have of Captain Barger."

Frankie added, "So they carted you off to some isolated field and left you there to die."

His face was grim and his eyes downcast, "Yeah." He breathed.

"That answers some of our questions, doesn't it?"

Kitty couldn't reply; the pictures of Matt wounded, and the brave old woman trying to help him, took her breath away.

"So." Frankie was thinking out loud, "Captain Barger doesn't suspect that you are one of us?"

"He may have had his doubts in the beginning, but no, my cover was good, there wasn't any evidence to corroborate his early suspicion and certainly not after I'd been shot."

Frankie turned to the other woman, "Well, Miss Kitty, what's your opinion?"

"Beau knows Matt, or knows he's my brother-in-law … but his Grandmother can place him as one of the Band of Brothers. It's too risky to involve Matt at this point. I'm your best bet."

"My thought exactly." Frankie concurred.

Kitty frowned, "I still don't understand, why you can't just go in and arrest Barger and put an end to the organization."

"It's not as simple as that." Frankie replied. "Do you recall all the speculation when Lincoln was shot?"

"What do you mean?"

"The finger pointing … "

"I remember there was some talk about a conspiracy and a cover-up that went beyond Booth, Mary Surratt and the three men who were executed with her."

"That's right. Some folks thought Jefferson Davis was behind the murder, or Vice President Johnson, there was a faction who blamed Mary Lincoln, while others accused Rothschild and the International Bankers, there was even speculation that the Pope and Catholic Church were financing Booth and his accomplices. You know, to this day, there are those who believe Booth is living the good life in Europe."

"What's your point, Frankie?"

"We believe whoever was behind Lincoln's Assassination, is backing the Band of Brothers, financing them and promising them great power, once they have taken over the United States Government."

"But they killed Lincoln and the government is still intact, what makes them feel they will be more successful with Grant."

"Grant's office is full of scallywags and crooks; believe me Kitty, this country is a heartbeat away from anarchy."

Matt Dillon turned to look at Kitty, his Kitty, his beautiful, brave, stubborn Kitty. He knew she had to join them, had to put herself at risk for the greater cause. He knew there was no other way for honor to prevail.


	27. Chapter 27

**twenty-seven**

The drug Kitty had administered to Matt earlier that morning still had power. He had reluctantly retired to his room. This whole idea of Kitty working undercover for Wilcox, made him angry and he wanted to make sure he'd slept off the full effects of the medication, before Kitty left for Summerhaven. Perhaps, there would still be time to talk some sense into her.

With Matt resting, the ladies began preparation in earnest. Frankie stood with Kitty in front of her wardrobe cabinet. "The problem is," Kitty started, "Mrs. Johnston's clothes are recognizable … she must be a woman who likes to be noticed."

Frankie agreed, "A detail the men in the organization overlooked, or perhaps Mr. Wilcox never thought you'd infiltrate their operation, as far as you have. I think we can disguise this azure blue dress enough that Mrs. Barger's friends won't recognize it today. I'm handy with a needle and thread. It won't take me long to remove the lace collar and cuffs from the brown gabardine and add them to this one. Pearl buttons down the front will help as well, we can remove those from the satin shirtwaist." Frankie paused and her voice grew deadly serious. "You've done well to this point. You've played your part better than we could have hoped. I know I don't have to tell you how grave our situationis, but I'm going to anyway. You must keep playing the role as assigned you. Protect Matt's true identity. Don't let it slip that I'm not Lilly. You must be very careful, not only does your life depend on it, but possibly the future of the United States as well."

"Whew, that's a pretty big load to carry."

Frankie smiled exposing the gap in her teeth, "I know, but you won't have to carry it forever. When this is over you can go back to your normal life. Mr. Wilcox will see to it that Matt is restored to his U. S. Marshal position with honor, it wouldn't surprise me, if he received a presidential commendation."

A few moments passed as the two worked quietly together, sitting side by side on Kitty's bed. Kitty carefully removed the threads holding the lace collar in place while Frankie sewed on the pearl buttons. Kitty's thoughts were scattered as she tried to make sense of what lay ahead of her. How, she wondered would she be able to recognize anything, which might prove helpful to Mr. Wilcox and his organization. Finally she asked Frankie, "Who do you think is behind the Band of Brothers?"

Lilly put down her needle and thread, "Money, the bankers, most likely International, the Money Lords of Great Britain and Europe, the Rothschild Brothers, the British Virginia Company, the French Bourbon family and others like them, but also right here on our own shores. In New York, we've seen the depths our own financers and bullion brokers will sink to. James Fisk and Jay Gould sought to fill their own pockets cornering the gold market, while nearly crippling the economy on that infamous Black Friday in '69. The United States is a great country or will be one day soon, there is an enormous abundance of land, fertile soils to grow king cotton and wheat enough to feed the world. There are natural resources available here that can be found nowhere else on earth in such vast quantities."

"Natural resources?"

"Gold, silver, coal, lead, Galena ore, copper, it's all here waiting to make this country richer than any other in history." Frankie leaned forward, with a voice turned low, as in one revealing a secret, "Kitty, there are those who believe that the war was incited by the money interests abroad with the ultimate purpose of dividing the States, so Europe might profit. To finance the war, both sides relied heavily on loans from the international bankers until President Lincoln finally put a damper and refused to pay their exorbitant rates of interest. That's when he issued constitutionally authorized interest free United States notes, the Green Backs. Thus making the bankers on a whole, very unhappy."

"I didn't realize …"

"Oh Kitty, there are all sorts of bad guys out there in fact most of them don't wear a mask and carry six shooters. Behind the closed doors of those esteemed financial institutions, there are unheard of power plays being schemed, and there is no end to the lies, intrigues, deceits and double dealing being plotted." Frankie picked up her needle and thread, "Of course, that's just my opinion regarding who is behind the Band of Brothers but, it is worth your consideration."

By the time Sebastian arrived at the cottage to pick her up, Frankie had transformed the blue gown into something entirely different. Drapped over the chair waiting for Kitty, the gown looked prim and demure, funny how something, which might look ordinary on one person, could look quite extraordinary on someone else. The simple lines only served to enhance the perfection of Kitty's figure, while the vivid blue brought out the same lively color in her eyes. Every inch of her torso was modestly covered, yet every curve was delightfully exposed. She had gone to great lengths to fix her hair in a modern style, and wore simple but elegant pearl earrings as a finishing touch. The result was mix of Paris couture and New York high fashion.

Dillon frowned when he saw the finished product. "You don't know what you're getting yourself mixed up in." He told her, as they stood alone in the small hallway between their bedrooms.

"You're right. I don't. But, I'll do the best I can, just the same. It would help some, if you'd support me with a little encouragement."

He shook his head, his features hard, "There's no talking you out of this?"

"Uh uhhh." She answered.

"Kitty just be careful."

She looked up into his face, and smiled ruefully at the absurdity of hearing Matt offer the platitude she had so often said to him. "I guess the shoes on the other foot, Cowboy. Not so easy, is it, being the one left behind the one who sits and waits?"

"Kitty "

Her smile softened, "It'll be fine, you'll see."

Dillon nodded. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her in his arms, hold her so tightly to him, that nothing and no one could ever harm her. But he didn't; instead, he stepped aside and let her pass.


	28. Chapter 28

**Twenty-eight**

She left the cottage at precisely three o'clock. She knew, because the mantle clock chimed the hour, as she and Sebastian walked out the door.

Alone, in the back of the carriage, Kitty tried to rehearse her lines, like an actress in a traveling stage show. The only problem was there were very few lines, which came to memory. She wished she hadn't been ordered to destroy the dossier Mr. Wilcox had given her. What if she were asked a question and didn't recall the correct answer? Would they know she was an impostor? She mulled over as well, the information, which Frankie had shared, regarding her belief that the International Bankers were behind the Band of Brothers. Bankers - the only one she knew well was Mr. Bodkin, back in Dodge. He certainly had never struck her as an under handed conspirator, and she had never known a more patriotic soul.

She adjusted her gown and righted the plumed leghorn bonnet, which graced her head. Frankie, combining the materials from several of Mrs. Johnston's millinery collection, had hastily, but artistically redesigned the hat to match the blue dress. The carriage turned the corner and was traveling down the brick paved lane to Summerhaven. She lifted the curtain aside, to study the activity. A number of fine carriages were lined up against the wrought iron hitching posts. Their drivers were lulling under the shade of a weeping willow, off on the side yard. Like jockeys, each coachman was dressed in the colors of his employer, although their silk blouses were unbuttoned and their hats tossed aside in deference to the warmth of the day. It looked to Kitty as though they were enjoying their free time, with their own forms of diversion, for she saw dice being rolled and a large bottle of whiskey being passed.

The carriage came to a stop and Sebastian opened the door and offered her a hand in assistance. As she stepped down, Kitty scanned the manicured grounds, but she did not immediately spot Beaumont. It was on the second pass that her focus stopped on a fancy latticed-work gazebo. There he stood, but not alone. Three men were with him, engaged in some form of intense conversation, for the body language of each participant was animated. She made a point of studying them, so she could describe each later. Amid the assemblage there was a decided atmosphere of wealthy self-importance. Standing next to Beau was a short round man with a nine-inch cigar sticking out from his face, and a small mustache fringing his upper lip. He used one hand for dramatic gestures, which included popping the cigar in and out of his mouth; while his other hand was shoved in his vest like Napoleon Bonaparte in a picture she'd once seen. A taller man stood to his left. This gentleman was so thin and haggard that his fine clothes drooped from his body as though they were still suspended from a hanger. Even from a distance she could tell his skin was off color, and she could hear his rasping cough. The third man, who was standing next to Beaumont, was tall as well, his frame more filled out than the last. He wore spectacles and a derby hat, which seemed a fraction too small for his bald head. The hard felt bowler looked like it might slip off should the wearer move too sharply. Indeed, he appeared to move cautiously, as if he were a finishing school debutant, learning to balance a book on the head.

Beaumont kept shaking his head, and holding his hand up in front of him, in the classic signal to back off. He appeared ready to say something to his companions, when he spotted Kitty standing by the carriage. His face immediately brightened and he excused himself and with long swift strides moved quickly to Kitty's side.

Taking her hands in his, he exclaimed, in his smooth drawl, "My dear Miss Kitty, I am so pleased you accepted Grandmother's invitation. As I told you, she is having friends for tea, however, these ladies are not her close friends, for they, those who are still alive, live back in Bibb County, Georgia. It will be great comfort for her to have someone from`back home.'" He leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on her lips and then apologized, "Forgive me, but I couldn't help myself."

Playing her part, Kitty scolded, "Mr. Davis, kindly remember, that I am a lady!"

"It's hard to recall anything when I see a woman who looks as fetching as you do. Miss Kathleen, you are ravishing!" He licked his chops, and then gave her a contrite look. "Forgive me?" he pleaded, with a face so handsome, it was hard not to be moved by his good looks.

She nodded with a smile, "Where's your grandmother?"

"She and her guests are in the house. Come, I will introduce you to the ol' crows."

"Beau!"

"Again, sorry my dear but, I think you will agree with me, they aren't a fun group."

"Are they married to the gentlemen you were speaking to?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, and I might add, the gentlemen are even less fun then their wives."

"Do they live here in Davis Port?"

"During the warm months, yes, they escape the turmoil and heat of city life, here in our little community." He directed her gaze to the gazebo, "The round gentleman with the big cigar, that would be Ephraim Merewether, the heir to Merewether International Shipping. He resides on Park Avenue in New York City; he's a neighbor with the Vanderbilt's. The tall gentleman with the hat is Frederick Deuth. Freddy is in insurance; he has offices in New York and Washington, DC, as well as London, England. The thin fellow is non other than Harvard P. Rice; H.P. has made a fortune in speculation, most of it on the Wall Street stock exchange."

Kitty raised an eyebrow; "Interesting, isn't it, that these three prominent business men would be following after their wives to a teaparty."

Beau laughed, "There's more to it than that, the ladies are looking to build a museum of art, or some such cultural monument. A shrine, they can brag about to one another as their contribution to the underprivileged."

"I see, so the men are here to offer their financial support."

"Yes ... yes, that's right, financial support."

"But?"

"Now, now … you are not to worry that pretty little head of yours with business matters, my dear Kitty, come I'm sure Grandmother is eagerly awaiting your arrival."

He stuck out his elbow; she placed her hand on his proffered arm and he led her up the front porch steps. Not ready to let the matter drop, Kitty added, "I must say, Beau, I'm impressed by the company you keep, I had no idea that you are such an important man. No offense intended."

He chuckled in answer, "None taken. I must admit it is not my choice to keep company with them. I do so, for the family's sake. I'd just as soon be fishing, or ..." He gave a devilish grin, "spending time alone, with you."

A maid opened the door and they entered. Inlaid parquet floors decorated the foyer, while a dramatic staircase separated the house in halves. English tapestry and great-framed portraits hung on the walls and French doors divided room from room. They walked through a formal reception room, to a smaller parlor, near the rear of the house with a splendid view of the river, and a small beautifully laid table in front of the window. A marble fireplace dominated the adjacent wall, and was flanked by a pair of Louis XV side chairs, upholstered in a gay harlequin pattern.

Louisa Barger held court from a velvet upholstered Roman divan; she looked regal in a gown of ruby taffeta and chiffon, on her head was placed a small off the face hat trimmed with faux rose blossoms and ruby satin ribbon. Next to her, in a dainty side chair, sat a stout woman, stuffed in a green lace gown, which appeared a size too small for her ample girth. Her complexion was ruddy, no doubt from the lack of oxygen, the tight corseting was causing, and a mid-life hot flash. On her head, sat what Kitty could only describe to herself as a fruitbasket. Velvet bananas, and beaded apples and pears rested around a lace-covered bonnet, sprinkled with sequins and glitter to add a festive look. Sitting together, on a settee opposite Mrs. Barger, were the other two guests. One lady was dressed in heavy black mourning clothes, with a plain black bonnet and her companion wore clothing,which just as well might have been widow's weeds for her dress was steel gray and devoid of ornamentation, save for a horrendously large broach, which she wore over her left breast, making her look quite lopsided, she, betraying Victorian convention wore no hat on her severely coiffured salt and pepper hair.

Like her Grandson, Louisa brightened when she saw Kitty. "Oh, dear child, you are like a breath of fresh air come in, come in. Beau, please bring a chair over, so Kitty can sit by me and then run along, we ladies have matters to discuss."

When Beau had left the room, and Kitty was sitting close to her side, Louisa made the introductions. The stout woman it turned out was Cornelia Rice, wife of HP. The lady with the huge broach was introduced as Lady Lydia Von Klack-Deuth. Mrs. Ephraim Merewether was the mourner in the black dress. Kitty said, "How do you do," to each of the woman, and expressed sympathy to Mrs. Merewether.

"At present, I am in bereavement over the passing of my second cousin once removed, Sir Wilhelm Von Klack, ahhh, little Willie so young, so full of life. It is true, the good die young."

Louisa Barger leaned over and whispered in Kitty's ear, "She's always mourning someone. Too cheap to invest in a real wardrobe. You'd never know her husband is one of the richest men in New England, and she from European royalty." Kitty, bit her lip in response, in order to hold a giggle at bay.

Louisa rang a small silver bell and Effie appeared with trays of plovers' eggs, caviar, champagne and sherry. She curtsied and announced to her employer, "Madam, tea will be served in fifteen minutes, if it pleases you."

Lady Lydia, who was perhaps a wee bit deaf, took a sip of sherry and then asked Kitty with a loud voice, "Tell us about yourself dear? Louisa said you're an old family friend."

Mrs. Barger's composed face showed a hint of impatience, she spoke with an equally loud voice, confirming Kitty's suspicion. "That's not what I said Lydia, she's from Georgia, as am I. Mrs. Kent is staying in Davis Port, while her brother-in-law recuperates from illness."

With the thought that these women wanted to do something to improve the circumstances of those less fortunate than they, Kitty added, "I found him living in deplorable conditions at St. Vincent's County Asylum. Something should be done about that place, the patients live in surroundings unfit for animals much less human beings."

Cornelia Rice attempted to cool her too red face with a peacock-feathered fan. She dismissed Kitty's concerns for the inmates of the asylum, "Ahhh yes well, that is the County's concern, not ours. Do you anticipate being in our little community long? I imagine you are desperate to be back with your people."

"My brother-in-law is the only family I have left, after the war ... "

Mrs. Merewether inhaled sharply, and put a hand up to silence Kitty, "We do not talk politics, that includes anything to do with the `war'. We leave affairs of state to the men folk. We were just discussing a new young artist who is all the rage in France; tell me Mrs. Kent have you heard of Claude Monet?"

"No I'm afraid I haven't."

"Well, I attended a showing of his work, last summer in Paris, and I simply must have one of his paintings. His style is so unique. His use of color, breathtaking, he draws you into his world ... absolutely extraordinary."

Twin creases formed between Cornelia Rice's thick eyebrows as she objected, "I prefer the masters. If we are going to expose those less fortunate to culture and fine art, let it be the art which has withstood the test of time."

"Oh yes Mrs. Rice is quite right, Rembrandt and Di Vinci, certainly comparing this Monet to the masters, is like comparing Stephen Foster to Mozart," stated Lady Lydia.

The women continued their discussion, leaving Kitty behind to observe. She noticed that Mrs. Barger spent most of her time observing as well. In due course, Effie announced, "Tea is served." The small group moved from their chairs in front of the marble fireplace, and proceded to the beautiful Irish lace covered table, in front of the windows. A spray of pink roses served as centerpiece. Dainty fingerbowls were positioned at every place setting, each floating a small pink rosebud. The elegant hand painted bone china was no doubt Haviland, the exquisite lead crystal undeniably Waterford, and the sterling silver flatware, was beautifully patterned in an aesthetic Japanese floral produced by a well known silversmith from New York.

Effie served a creamed asparagus soup, followed by Jerusalem artichokes in a dill sauce and savories, consisting of tasty tea sandwiches and sweet finger foods. Kitty spent most of her time carefully minding her manners, anxious that any slip of proper etiquette might give her away. She needn't have worried, for the ladies were still deep in talk about their plans for an art museum. Mrs. Merewether turned to Kitty in an effort to draw her into their conversation; "I recall a trip to Atlanta with my husband several years ago, where we took in a splendid museum, which housed a small but impressive collection of paintings. I believe it was known as the Heppelwhite - perhaps you've been there?"

Louisa Barger picked up the hand painted teapot; her voice was even, not giving in to expression, which would certainly betray a dislike for the Northern guest, "I believe Mr. Sherman and his men, took care of the Heppelwhite, as they traveled through Georgia in `64." She turned to the lady on her left, "More tea Cornelia dear?" she asked.

Mrs. Merewether shook her head sadly, "Pity it couldn't be saved, just think of all the treasures that were lost."

Louisa agreed with genteel cynicism, "Yes, there were a great many treasures lost in the `March to the Sea.'"

Lady Lydia boomed in her loud voice, "Oh, but we're talking war, aren't we and we have vowed and declared NOT to do that."

Cornelia happy to change the subject asked, "Has any one heard of this new composer from Russia, Tchaikovsky, I believe his name is?"

"Yes, yes speaking of rebels this young man certainly is."

"Oh but I don't think we should talk of him either he's a bit different "

Kitty folded her hands in her lap. She wasn't going to learn anything sitting with these ladies. It was as if they had been conditioned to speak of nothing, which might hint of substance or social reform. She glanced around the room, wondering where the men might be at this point. She'd heard Louisa Barger remark briefly, that the `boys' had enjoyed a hearty meal and were playing a hand or two of poker in the library.

Instinctively, Miss Kitty Russell knew she'd learn far more from that forum than the one she was forced to participate in here. She sat for a moment plotting an exit, which might serve her purpose, and then requested the cream pitcher. Slight of hand and quick fingers were as much a part of her early education as were reading and writing and arithmetic. Kitty put her skills to purpose, and without realizing her part in the scheme, Cornelia, wife of H.P. Rice, had managed to pour the entire contents of the fancy creamer right in Kitty's lap.

Kitty jumped to her feet with an exclamation of feigned surprise. The rich man's wife apologized profusely; for never had she publicly made such a breach of good manners, her humiliation doubled by the fact she was in the company of such high-ranking matrons of good breeding. She made ineffective dabs at Kitty's gown, with Louisa's embroidered linen napkins. Her face took on the flushed shine of embarrassed perspiration, a fact that only added to her mortification.

Louisa picked up the little silver bell sitting by her right hand, and rang it furiously. Effie and two of the kitchen maids, came scurrying in, the latter two women, with hands still sudsy from dishwater. The scene showed some semblance of chaos. Louisa, eager to bring order to her tea party, commanded the maids to see to Mrs. Kent and her gown. Kitty was led meekly away, and escorted to a lovely well-appointed washroom. Effie and her cohorts began fussing over the blue gown, each offering a suggestion on how to remedy the stain. Kitty allowed them the briefest of discussion, before she kindly shooed them off, back to the kitchen, telling them that she would take care of the matter. At first they were hesitant to leave her, but relief replaced their reluctance for this was an important tea party and they had no desire to add to the cause of its failure.

"A little soap and water and it will be fine." Kitty assured them,"I'll sit on the back veranda in the sunshine until it dries."

When she was alone, she made quick work of washing out the stain and then left the room to explore the other side of the house. She took a hall, which by passed the kitchen and entered a huge formal dining room, with a table large enough to seat a small army in grand style, the walls were made up of a series of huge gilt framed mirrors which ran from floor to ceiling. Massive pocket doors separated the dining room from a great reception hall, large enough for one hundred people and a small orchestra; it was like a ballroom from one of Matt's fairy tales. Here as well, were floor to ceiling mirrors, making the room look far larger and even grander. Beyond this room on the other side of ornate French doors was the library. From her point, in the entry, between dining room and ball room she could smell the fine tobacco and hear the low voices of the men, as they played cards and talked politics.

It was an undeniable fact, that not many women knew men as well as Kitty Russell. Like a chameleon, she could adjust her guise to meet the ego of any man she met. This she did now. She thrust back her shoulders, threw forth her bosom and marched in, with a walk no living male could ignore.


	29. Chapter 29

**twenty-nine**

On the banks of the river, stood Matt Dillon, hands in pockets, scowl on face and squinty eyes directed at Summerhaven across the water. He'd been walking the shoreline on and off since the Davis carriage had taken Kitty away. His initial cover had been fishing, but that sham had soon been abandoned. He paced back and forth, made trips to the sun porch where the view offered a slightly different perspective, and then back again to the river bank. From time to time Frankie joined him, bringing sandwiches, or water and always assurance that certainly, in such a setting no harm could possibly come to Kitty Russell. It was a lie, and they both knew it.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Beaumont Davis glanced up from his poker hand to see Kitty approach; the rest of the men did the same. As a group they jumped to their feet. Their exuberance so forceful, they nearly upset the sturdy mahogany gaming table in the process. Flabby stomachs were sucked in and weak chests expanded with air, reminding Kitty of peacocks spreading their tail feathers in courtship ritual. There was no need for Beau to flaunt his blatant masculinity. He stood relaxed with a lazy smile lifting the corners of his sensuous lips. There was a chuckle in his voice, "Kitty … are you in need of rescue?"

This was her kind of arena, cards, men and expensive liquor; she could play them all as a maestro plays a baby grand. She batted her eyes in a most attractive and helpless manner, "Oh, I'm afraid, I've soiled my dress, and am no longer fit for the company of ladies." Her stance was demure, but certainly not innocent.

"Join us my dear, we're not the type to shy away from a soiled lady." Mr. Merewether offered, flaunting his nine-inch cigar with a flourish.

She responded with an arched eyebrow and a pouty smile. The round man blushed and tried to amend his statement, "Humfp … I mean … well … "

She placed a hand on his flabby shoulder, her drawl had never been sweeter, "Thank you, I've always been fascinated by card playing …" Her performance couldn't have worked better if she'd been a blonde. Ever so gently she tightened the squeeze on the rich man's shoulder, so that he wasn't sure if it was a message of attraction or the helpless reaction of a vulnerable female. The sugar remained in her voice. "Although, it seems mighty complicated to little old me."

H.P. Rice replied from across the table in a raspy voice, "Not complicated at all Missy … you follow suite. Ace is high …"

"Suite?"

H.P. coughed and clarified, "Yes … clubs, spades …"

She smiled and adjusted her shoulders slightly, an act which drew in her waist and changed the altitude of her breasts. "Oh … and diamonds and hearts?" She finished. "Those are my favorites … the red cards, I'm partial to red …"

"I must say," Freddy Deuth offered, with slow perusal of her assets, including flaming hair, "I'm mighty partial to red too."

Kitty ran a tongue over her lips, and offered a heartbeat of bedroom eyes to the quartette. Her smile turned purely beguiling, "And what girl alive doesn't love hearts and diamonds?"

Beaumont watched her antics with a humorous expression. He knew by now this woman was far more cunning than she was letting the businessmen see. He decided she was playing a game of her own contrivance, for their private amusement. He sent her a quick conspiratorial wink, to show he was in on her charade.

Ephraim Merewether offered, pulling over a chair, "Come sit by me, honey. I'll show you how the game is played. You can be my good luck charm."

Kitty noted his pile of chips was twice as large as anyone else's. She clapped her hands together, "Oh, are we winning?"

Beau had to clear his throat to keep from laughing out loud, before making a formal introduction, "Gentlemen," he announced, "May I present, Mrs. Kathleen Kent."

"Mrs!" Was their united exclamation.

Kitty practically purred her response, "I'm a poor lonely widow." She let the emphasis fall on the word 'lonely.' Merewether fingered the edge of his moustache, "I think we can remedy that problem." He held the chair for her, as she sat down. He returned to his seat, inching it over until the two chairs met. He picked up his cigar, stuck it in his mouth and then took a swig of the amber colored liquid in his glass, finishing the contents. He leaned closer to Kitty, showing her his poker hand, which contained two Kings, two Aces and a Queen of hearts. He put his finger to his lips, "Watch and learn."

Watch and Learn, was the riverboat gambler's mantra and an inherent trait to Kitty Russell. To have this opportunity to study each of the players was more than she could have hoped for. She had to give it to Merewether and friends - they were good. Their poker faces gave almost nothing away. But her early schooling had taught her well; she knew what to look for; H.P.'s widening of the eye, a twitch to Beaumont's lip, Merewether's tug on the end of his moustache and Fred Deuth's bald pate glowing with the fresh dew of perspiration. Every gambler has a giveaway, some involuntary habit or motion, which telegraphs inadvertent information to the other players; it was only a matter of knowing what to look for in order to identify the `tell'. She herself, knew her response was a quickening of pulse, at the base of her throat. When she was in gambling garb, she always wore a choker to hide her body's perfidy. After an hour in the company of these gentlemen, she could very nearly predict their play; when they had a good hand, when they had a bad and most importantly when they were bluffing.

Hand after hand was dealt, the pile of chips shifted from one player to the other, they smoked their fine cigars, drank expensive brandy and flirted shamelessly with Kitty. However, there was more going on then a mere game of poker with a pretty lady in attendance. She studied their words as she had studied their card playing. It was obvious to her suspicious mind, they were practiced in double talk and code and carried on a conversation, which seemed nothing more than the normal shoptalk one might expect from savvy businessmen, but she knew a secret dialogue, cloaked their discussion. Between sexual innuendos and slightly off color jokes, which certainly they thought Kitty was too innocent or dim witted to comprehend, they spoke of the _Fraternatis_ and the _Solutio_ with a greedy fervor that brought a chill to Kitty's spine. The words were ancient, but not so far removed from their modern counterparts that she couldn't speculate on their meaning. Excitement and trepidation heightened her awareness. She was standing at the precipice of information the Secret Service had been working so hard to gain access to. With a calming intake of air she forced herself to maintain her own poker face.

So intent on the conversation and the idiosyncrasies of the men at the table, she didn't immediately notice when Sebastian entered the room. She nearly jumped when he addressed Beaumont, "Sir, Starkey is here from the Emporium, he wishes to discuss with you a matter requiring your immediate attention."

Beau stood, "Thank you Sebastian, tell him I'll be right there." He turned to his guests, "Please excuse me, I don't believe this will take long. Mrs. Kent, why don't you play my hand … let's see if you have learned anything from Mr. Merewether." With that, Beau turned to glance in the wall mirror, adjusted his tie and gave a small wink to his reflection, before leaving the room.

Something about that act niggled at Kitty's memory, but she couldn't put a finger on why or what. She gracefully moved to Beau's chair and picked up the cards he'd left fanned out face down on the table. It was a poor hand, rich in twos and threes, but she played it out and lost some of Beau's money. The men continued to tease her; it was obvious they saw Kitty as nothing more than brainless eye candy, something sweet to enjoy, but of little mental substance, and certainly no threat to their cause. As the game wore on they became bolder in talk, less concerned with cloaking information. It was Deuth who leaned across the table and said to the others in a low ruthless voice, "The Barger concern may not be in the best interest of the _Fraternatis_, I have the impression their allegiance is motivated on a dissimilar course. In other words gentlemen, the Barger family, Beau Davis included, may not be a part of the _Solutio_ … at least as we see it."

H.P. Rice shook his head, the smoke in the room, made his voice sound like rough gravel, and he breathed heavy and coughed after each sentence, "No … Fred, you have it wrong … we'd never have gotten this far … without their help."

Merewether toyed with the end of his moustache in a classically diabolical fashion, "They can be easily manipulated and eventually take the fall, casting away from the _Fraternatis_ any shadow of doubt." He saw Kitty watching him and he abruptly changed direction, "I hope we're not boring with our shop talk, might I pour you a drink? I'm sure Beau has some sherry here somewhere."

She nodded and took the drink he offered, as on cue each of the players changed the subject to reflect the past season of horse racing at Saratoga Springs. They were moments into the conversation when Beau returned to the room, his face was calm, his manner easy, aside from a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Kitty's poker instincts told her he'd been dealt cards he hadn't expected. "Gentlemen, I must leave for the Emporium … business, you understand … Miss Kitty, I'll see you home on my way, shall I?"

There was no indication from her coquettish smile that she was concerned by what she'd witnessed except the rapid pulse which beat at the base of her elegant neck. Thankfully, dressed as she was, no one was looking at her neck. She accepted Beau's hand and bid the players good-bye.

"Thank you gentlemen … even if I didn't win today, I've learned a great deal from each of you."

Each man stood up and bowed at her exit. She sighed her relief as the door shut behind them.

Beau took her elbow and led her from the house. He didn't speak until they were on the front veranda, "I'm sorry I had to leave you in there with those charmers, although I'm sure you held your own."

"I did my best. Shouldn't I say good bye to your Grandmother?" she asked.

"I'll do that for you. I feel bad enough for putting you through this, without subjecting you to another round of the dragon ladies."

Sebastian pulled the carriage to the front steps of the home, and Beau helped her in and then settled in the seat across from her. Evening had come and although a gaslight burned in the carriage, shadows hid all but the angles of his face. She smiled with unease, she liked Beau and although she didn't understand exactly what Merewether, Rice and Deuth were speaking of, she knew it did not bode well for Davis or his Grandmother. It seemed she was obligated to some form of fair warning. She began with a question, "What is the _Fraternatis_?"

It was too dark to see the twitch. "_Fraternatis_, is Latin for brotherhood. It's …" He hesitated."It's a very exclusive gentlemen's social club."

"and `_solutio_'?"

Again, hesitation before he answered. "By laws … the clubs rules and regulations."

"While you were gone, the men, Rice and the rest, were talking about the _Fraternatis._"

"That's not surprising."

"And, they were talking about you. "

He answered with a casual drawl. "What about me?"

"They don't think you're an asset to their _Fraternatis_."

He laughed. "Not to worry my dear. Those fellows are like gossipy old hens, as soon as one leaves the room the rest start cackling. You must see Kitty; I'm just small potatoes compared to them, they're big time wheelers and dealers and I'm just a Southern farm boy trying to eke out a living. It's not surprising they would deem me less than equal to their business agendas and social club."

"All the same Beau, I wouldn't trust them if I were you."

He reached across the aisle and took her fingers in his. "Thank you for caring enough to tell me."

The cottage was dark when the carriage pulled to a stop. Beau walked her to the front door, took the key from her hand and unlocked it for her. He chuckled in the dark and she asked, "What?"

"Oh … I was just picturing you wrapping Merewether around your dainty finger … soiled lady indeed!" He leaned in and gave her a kiss to her cheek. "Sleep well beautiful Kitty-cat and thank you."

Frankie was already in bed on the cot in the front parlor. She sat up and wiped sleep from her eyes as Kitty walked through the room. "What did you find out?" She asked.

"If you don't mind … I'd rather talk about it tomorrow. Where's Matt?"

"Either in bed or down by the river."

Her corset stays were pinching her ribs and she felt if she didn't get out of the fancy clothes soon, she'd be in danger of suffocating.

"Go back to sleep Frankie."

Kitty tiptoed to her room and quickly slipped out of the clothing and into a white linen sleeping gown, which had belonged to Mrs. Johnston. She set free her hair from the combs and pins, and gave it a shake. It smelled like cigar smoke. She doused her brush with French toilet water and then ran it through her tresses until the odor was replaced by the sweeter scent. When her clean-up was complete she donned slippers and house robe and ventured out to see if she could find Matt. There was so much she wanted to talk over with him.

He was leaning against a tree by the birch grove; she quickened her pace when she realized he had been waiting for her.

He reached for her when she was close enough, and pulled her to him."You all right?" he asked, but his lips suppressed her answer. When the kiss ended, she nodded. "I'm fine."

"Y'sure?"

"Yuh … I learned a few things … at least I think I did … it's going to take some sorting out in my mind before I can talk about it."

He nodded. "I'm proud of you … you know that, don't you?"

Again she nodded and sighed. The weight of the task in front of them was daunting, "I wish … I wish we were back home in Dodge …"

"I know … but just as long as you're all right." His hands tightened around her upper arms and he studied her silhouette. He spoke his thoughts aloud, "Where would I be without you?"

She stiffened her spine, "Mister, you'd be just where you are … Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal."

"No I wouldn't, I've had a lot of time to think today, waiting for you ... worrying about you. Without you Kitty, something would be missing from me. I guess I'd be wearing the badge, but I'd be a different man."

The profound truth of the matter hit her core, "We'd both be different… less than what we are, incomplete, I guess."

"How did we ever get so damn lucky?"

She was all saloon madam bravado, "Luck has nothing to do with it Cowboy, it's all the way you play your hand."

He saw right through Kitty's bluster, to the very heart of her. The slivered moon appeared from behind the cloud and the stars shown bright, glowing with muted shadows against her lovely face. A breeze caught a wisp of her red hair and played with it a moment before he took it in hand. He caressed the wayward tress, bringing it to his nose to inhale its delicate scent, as though it were a sweet summer rose. He wanted her; he needed her. Desire both physical and spiritual empowered him. "Come." He said, gently lowering her to the ground with him. She settled in the crook of his shoulder and together they stared at the night sky forgetting for the moment all that was wrong with the world, concentrating only on what was right. They each knew what was coming, and savored the intense yearning which would propel their passion. Ever so gently he rolled on top of her, blocking her view of the sky, but bringing with his love the light of ten thousand stars.


	30. Chapter 30

**thir**

Had someone told them later, that the earth shook and skyrockets lit up the sky that night, they would not have been surprised, for such was the power of their coming together. Afterward, they slept, wrapped in each other's arms. She with nightgown tangled and unbuttoned, he with clothes in disarray. When time had passed and rest had restored them, they roused from sleep.

Lying on his side with Kitty cradled in his arms, Dillon opened his eyes to see the brilliant reflection of the sun's first amber light shining from the river with the broken sparkle of liquid gold. The trees around them were alive with bird songs. The air smelled fresh and crisp and clean. The ground was moist with dew, and even he felt the chill. He grabbed Kitty's robe, which had long since been discarded and pulled it over them, but it too, was damp and cold. He knew he'd have to wake her and get them both inside, not only for health reasons, but the risk of being discovered was too great. Still, the utter delight of waking up with her in his arms, in this poor man's version of Paradise, was a small piece of heaven to him. Just amoment longer, he thought, wrapping his arms tighter around her curves, filling his hands gently with her all too tempting breasts.

She was cold; it was the first sensation, which brought her to wakefulness. She amended her thought dreamily, the front of her was cold but her back was delightfully warm, pressed as it was against the rock hard torso of Matt Dillon. For just a moment she reckoned she was back in Dodge, in her pretty room, over the Long Branch Saloon, and she and Matt had fallen asleep with the window open. Grass tickled her nose and she opened her eyes. Full memory returned, and as it did so did the slow erotic movement of male thumb against the most sensitive tissue of her feminine bosom. She sighed blissfully, and rolled toward his chest until they were face to face. "Good morning." He said and his smile matched hers.

Despite the desire to stay longer, Dillon, now being of rational mind, urged her to her feet. "Let's get inside … you're freezing." Heat had begun to work its way from her core to limb and appendage, but she couldn't deny the reasoning which motivated Matt. She allowed him to help her to her feet. Together, they ran through the birch grove, and the patch of grass, between cottage and shore, to the back sun porch. They were laughing, but trying not to. Dillon attempted a stern look, "Don't wake Frankie." He hissed as they moved into the little house. However, standing in the kitchen they could see to the parlor where Frankie's cot usually sat. It was not there and further inspection showed it had been folded up and was propped against a wall.

Both looked at one another with a slight frown, "Where's Frankie?" Kitty mouthed.

He replied with a shrug of his shoulders. They moved back to the kitchen and then to the hall, that led to the bedrooms. It was there the question was answered. Frankie was in Matt's bed. She saw them and sat up. Brushing her tousled hair aside, she said with a sleepy voice, "I didn't think you two were ever coming in."

"What are you doing in my bed?" Dillon asked.

"Look Matt, it doesn't make sense for me to sleep on the hard little cot, when I can have a real bed, and it doesn't make sense for the two of you not to share a bed, when it's obvious you belong with one another. So I took the bull and convention by the horns. Now, close the door and leave me be … there's still another hour and a half before I need to get up."

He chuckled in answer and closed the door. Kitty grabbed his hand and pulled him to the opposite bedroom. "She's right you know … we have an hour and a half. Just think of all we can accomplish in an hour and a half. "It was two hours later that the threesome sat at the kitchen table, eating bacon and eggs. All three were too hungry to talk, at least for the first portion of their breakfast. Presently, after Frankie had refreshed everyone's coffee cups, the question was asked by Matt, "What happened at Beaumont's yesterday Kitty? What did you learn?"

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, "Do the names Ephraim Merewether, Frederick Deuth and Harvard P. Rice mean anything to you?"

"Three very important men." Frankie stated.

"They and their wives were at Summerhaven yesterday."

Matt's eyes caught Frankie's briefly. He spoke, with a grim voice. "The _Fraternatis!_"

"Yes! They used that word and another word, '_Solutio_'."

Frankie asked. "Tell us what happened Kitty, start at the beginning … don't leave a detail out, no matter how small you think it might be."

As Kitty retold the former day's adventure, Matt and Frankie listened intently. From time to time they would nod, or ask her to clarifiy. She described the ladies and their dress, the servants, the architectural details of the house and the mirrors, which lined many of the rooms. She told of the business men, and how they had acted with her, and even got a chuckle out of both Frankie and Matt, when she related the conversation regarding her soiled dress, and her love of the red hearts and diamonds.

"They spoke of the `_Solutio_' and when Beau was out of the room, they discussed whether the Barger concern was part of the _Solutio_ or not. Fred Deuth believes their allegiance is not aligned with the _Fraternatis_."

Matt took a drink of his coffee and swallowed hard before answering,"The Barger concern, as they called it, at least as far as Colonel Barger is involved has only one motivation, for the South to rise again. The _Fraternatis_ has a grander scheme in mind, they want nothing more than control of the United States and the world market. They're using General Johnston, Colonel Barger and the Band of Brothers to help achieve their aim, but don't doubt for a minute, they won't cast them all to the wolves once their usefulness has ended."

Kitty looked at Matt and Frankie, some of the excitement left her voice, "I haven't told you anything new then … have I?"

Frankie spoke, "No Kitty, we've know about the _Fraternatis_ and the _Solutio_, we knew about the involvement of Deuth, Rice and Merewether. They are big players … but we believe there is someone else involved, a mastermind even more powerful than the richest men in the United States, someone who is manipulating all these factions like a puppeteer works a Punch and Judy show."

Kitty lowered her eyes, and studied the egg yolk left on her plate. She 'd left out one small detail. Guilt washed over her. As close as they had been, it seemed only natural he would sense this emotion.

"What is it Kitty?" Dillon asked.

"I told Beau …"

"What? What did you tell Beau?" Frankie demanded.

She remained quiet and Dillon prodded more kindly, "What did you say to him?"

She looked up from her plate, "I told him Deuth didn't trust him, or his family."

"Kitty … " He shook his head and his lips formed a thin line before he asked, "What did he say to that?"

"He thanked me for telling him, but he didn't seem worried by it."

Frankie stared hard at Dillon, "It might be for the best Matt; he'll trust Kitty all the more if he thinks she's looking out for his best interest."

Matt stood up, towering over the ladies still seated at the table. He was all brawn and badge, "This has gone far enough … Kitty's going back to Dodge … I want her out of this. Get word to Wilcox today, Frankie."

Frankie stood and marched over to the big man. She poked a finger in his flat belly and practically laughed up in his face, "See here Dillon, I out rank you; so don't go ordering me about. We've had this discussion before; the matter is settled. Kitty stays. She's the best weapon we have right now."

The argument might have continued, except for a strong rap at the front door and a familiar voice hollering, "Yeoman Meats, I got your order here."

Quick questioning glances were exchanged between the three, before Frankie limped hastily to the door and let Charlie in. The meat man was carrying a large cardboard box, "Well don't jus' stand there mister, bring it on in and set it on the kitchen table." Frankie said in a voice loud enough to dissuade any suspicious thought from a random passerby.

Charlie entered the kitchen with a big smile for Matt. He set down his box and stretched his large hand forward, "Well you are a sight for sore eyes, from the way I heard it, Mr. Wilcox was fixin' to ship you up to Bellevue for permanent residence in the cuckoo's nest!"

The angry scowl lifted from Dillon's features at the sight of a familiar comrade. He grasped Charlie's paw in both of his own. His voice proved a genuine fondness, "Charlie Yeoman, by golly, it's good to see your hairy face again."

Frankie heaved an exasperated sigh. She pushed her slight frame between the two men, "What's going on Charlie? I'm guessing this is more than a social call."

Yeomen gave Frankie a condescending smile; he took a step back, before doffing his cap with a bow. His words came out in a slow drawl with a clear intent to annoy her, "Good day to you, Miss Frankie, always a pleasure. Miss Kitty you look right pretty today."

"Cut the bull-shit, Charlie." Frankie ordered.

"All business ain't you girl?" He said with a snicker, "Well then, here it is. I just come from delivering to Summerhaven, and they put in an order for oysters, pheasant and veal enough to feed a hundred. They need it a week from today. You know what that means?"

Frankie smiled. Her cheeks flushed and she turned pretty for a moment,"Oh Charlie, it's what we've been waiting for, don't you think?" She spun to look at Kitty. "We need to get you a ball gown Cinderella, it appears Prince Charming is coming to dinner."


	31. Chapter 31

Just a reminder dear reader, this is a work of fiction. The characters of Baron Von Rothschild and his illegitimate son Alonzo, are no more real than Matt, Kitty, Frankie, Wilcox and the rest of the gang.

**thirty-one**

"Who and what are you talking about?" Kitty demanded.

"Baron Alfonse Mayer Von Rothschild's illegitimate son, Alonzo … " Charlie started.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Frankie leaned in. "Okay Kitty, here it is. The Oppenheims, the Mendelssohns, the Rothschilds, are part of a European banking fraternity. The House of Rothschild is the richest, most powerful family in the international banking cartel."

"Their financial instruments circulate the world as stocks, bonds and debts. They have financed monarchies and sovereign governments, wars and revolutions, some believe purposely pitting one side against the other. As early as 1817, the Rothschild brothers, there were five of them, had taken up a Prussian war loan, by the end of that war they were reportedly the richest firm in Europe. By the time Andrew Jackson was President of the United States their banking interests were deeply imbedded in the economy of our country. Jackson fought tooth and nail to prevent the nation from becoming under total control of foreign money. In fact his tombstone declares, "I killed the bank." It is believed they were a force behind the Civil War, and had agents working in the South, twenty years before Fort Sumter, spreading anti-North propaganda. Two Americas each burdened by debt to one bank, could only mean prosperity for the bank."

Frankie glanced at Charlie and Matt before turning her attention back to Kitty. "I won't deny the family has done good in the world, preserving great works of art and contributing to various charitable foundations. However, there is a strong belief, there are factions of the family only interested in domination - complete control of the world market. We believe Alonzo Rothschild is here to see to that end."

"… an illegitimate son can wield that kind of power?"

"Not usually, especially in the world of European hierarchy - but this family plays by their own rules, Alonzo has always been his father's favorite, even though he has three sons born of his legal wife, who also happens to be his cousin. They determine to keep the money in the family by marrying their own."

"You think Alonzo will be at Summerhaven?"

"If our information is correct, yes. A German luxury liner landed in the port of New York yesterday. If we can link the Rothschilds to the _Fraternatis_, if their money and power is funding the _Solutio_ … "

"I still don't understand … why don't you just start arresting people and throwing them in jail and toss away the key … "

Frankie spoke as one to a child. "Oh Kitty … you really have no idea how powerful these people are."

"I guess not, the more I hear of this, the more confused I become."

Frankie offered an understanding smile, "We have time to talk this out, but, in the meantime, we must consider practical matters. What are you going to wear to this shindig?"

Charlie added, "Our sources have disclosed Mrs. Johnston will be returning home. No doubt, she will be in attendance."

Frankie nodded her head, "So we can't make over any of her gowns …she'd know immediately."

"Yes, she would."

Kitty raised a hand to intervene, "Wait a minute, what makes you so sure I will even get invited to this affair."

Smiling, Frankie replied, "There's nothing Beau likes better than to have the most beautiful woman around to decorate his arm. Before you Kitty, his escort of choice was Elizabeth Adams … a beautiful heiress of a great fortune. Sad for Beaumont, her parents felt it wise to send her on the Grand European Tour, for the next several years. They weren't too happy with a liaison between their daughter and a shop keeper, no matter how successful he is."

Charlie glanced at his pocket watch and then spoke in a hurried voice, "Get me Kitty's measurements. We'll have Mr. Wilcox work on the problem."

The words were barely out of Charlie's mouth, when Frankie had gathered the sewing basket and Kitty's hand and was pulling her into the bedroom. "Have a cup of coffee Charlie, we'll be out in a minute." Yeoman helped himself to the coffee and turned to sit down at the table and talk with Matt, but Dillon was already out the back door and on his way to the river.

Without her beside him, his stride was halting and slightly uneven. He tripped once and nearly fell to the ground. His face held a heavy scowl. He was angry. Angry with Kitty, angry with Frankie, Charlie, Wilcox and anyone else who popped into his mind, but most of all he was angry with himself. Impotence gnawed his psyche. Fear turned the juices of his stomach, she was in over her head; they all were. And he was helpless to defend them.

How could he protect her? He was half the man he used to be. The head injury had robbed him of so much. His thinking process was wrong, at times it almost hurt to concentrate. He was still slow, both mentally and physically. His right side seemed particularly affected. He mimicked the action of a six-shooter in his palm. He shook his head and closed his eyes in helplessness. He lacked the coordination to pull a gun and shoot with accuracy. His gun hand lacked the strength to pull the trigger. Standing in the birch grove he held out his right hand. It shook, and he grabbed with the left to steady the tremor. Again, he attempted to flex his right hand. It seemed reluctant to obey. In frustration, he thrust hands, the strong and the weak into his pants pockets. As a matter of course, his fingers found the badge. The tin star did little to elevate his mood.

Kitty had watched him leave from the bedroom window and followed as soon as Frankie allowed it. He saw her approach, but turned his back to her, squaring his gaze instead on the flowing river. Still, he felt her presence behind him.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked, with one arm hugging a birch tree.

He shook his head and replied with some delay. "No."

"It might help …"

Still not looking at her, he said with a measure of defeat evident in his voice, "Kitty this isn't your fight … you shouldn't be here."

"Matt." She beseeched, and he finally turned to look at her. Even after all these years, there were things he didn't understand about her as well as a history he chose not to acknowledge. She had to make him face her life truths. The tree became her support. "Last night … when you asked, where you would be without me; the answer I gave you was true and without question. Matt Dillon, you would be what you are with or without Kitty Russell. But, as for me – Matt, where would I be without you?" She ran her tongue over her lips and took a deep breath. "I'm not sure that I wouldn't be on the wrong side of the tracks wallowing in a red light district, or in jail somewhere, or shot dead for cheating at poker. Without you in my life … my future wasn't all that bright."

A mallard in flight caught her eye and she followed his path. She sighed before speaking again. "My mother was a good woman, but gullible, some might say a fool, I swore not to be like her from the moment I understood what losing your self to love can do. My father, you remember him, was gambler through and through; he could bluff his way out of most any situation, he was a crook and a coward, but he was a survivor. As for me, what basic sense I had of right and wrong, had been worn away by the day-to-day need to survive with some food in my belly, and a roof over my head. There wasn't much I wouldn't do for a few dollars. That all changed when I met you."

He narrowed his vision to look at her. Kitty took her hand from the birch tree to stand tall. As one baring her soul. She met his eyes full on, aware of her flaws but proud too of the mettle that defined her character. "I am what I am because of you, of who you are and what that badge is. Funny you know, as much as I hate the badge … I love it too. It represents the code you live by, and because of that, it's the code I live by too." With spine straight arrow, she took a step closer to him. The irony hit her, as she understood the words she had read to him that first night in the cottage, now applied to her as well. She reached out to grasp his forearm. Her voice dropped to a melodic alto. "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more."


	32. Chapter 32

**thirty-two**

She didn't see Beau that day, nor did she seek the opportunity to do so. For the occupants of the little house on Lincoln Avenue, their time was given to practical matters. She and Frankie spent the afternoon with needle and thread and Mrs. Johnston's dresses. On the happenstance that Kitty, in the course of her activities, should come face to face with that lady, collars and cuffs were exchanged from one garment to another, bric-brac was added, and braiding and lace were repositioned. Kitty wasn't sure if the end result was convincing, but it was certainly enough to make the original owner scratch her head in puzzlement should she and Kitty meet.

It was a foregone conclusion, that Mrs. Johnston would show up at Beaumont's ball. From what Charlie had learned, every prominent figure in East Coast politics would be there, and that included members of President Grant's cabinet and perhaps even the President himself.

That information led credence to the rumor within the secret service that things were coming to a head. Undoubtedly, a move would be made that might well determine the future of the country.

Kitty had shaken her head at Charlie's disclosure that afternoon. "Charlie, it seems to me you have enough information to put an end to this, or at least tell the President and his people, to stay the hell away from Davis Port."

"This whole thing has to play out Kitty. The only way to stop the _Fraternatis_ is to catch them in the act."

"If you say so." But she really didn't agree or understand.

"Look, The _Fraternatis_ and powerful secret societies like them control the course of the world, like the undercurrents in that river out there determine the changes that take place on the surface of the water. President Lincoln put it something like this, 'The money power preys upon the nation in time of peace and conspires against them in times of adversity. It is more despotic than monarchy, more insolent than autocracy more selfish than bureaucracy.'"

Kitty unconsciously sighed. "Than this is fruitless, if they are that powerful and that relentless … if you can't stop them …"

"Maybe it is fruitless … but Kitty what if we didn't try, what if we didn't fight with the very last drop of our life blood? What if we let them have our Country? To my way of thinking freedom is worth the cost and if in the end, we as individuals lose, at least it will be with the satisfaction that we gave all to the fight, and the knowledge that others will lift up our banner and carry it into battle."

Charlie picked up the empty box that had contained the meat he'd just delivered. "If you don't hear anything from Beaumont Davis by tomorrow, you'll have to initiate contact."

Hands on hips, chin forward, Kitty asked. "Just how do you propose I do that?"

"You'll think of something." Charlie said confidently.

Kitty shook her head. "A lady waits. I AM supposed to be a lady."

Charlie ran the back of a hand over his hairy jowls and smiled. "There's nothing more stimulating to a man, as when a woman goes out of her way to let him know she wants him."

Kitty stared hard at Charlie, the light of sudden understanding flashing from her eyes. So that's the way it was going to be. "Let me get this straight … you want me to … to seduce Beau?"

Frankie spoke up. "Kitty … this is war and in war you use what ever weapons you have at your disposal."

Matt had been standing with his back to all of them throughout this conversation. He turned now and the glare in his steely eyes caused Charlie and Frankie to look away. Kitty Russell held his gaze until it was Matt Dillon who looked away, not in defeat but in acceptance.

That evening was a quiet one. After a simple supper, Frankie found other things to do giving Matt and Kitty privacy to spend time with one another.

**GS GS GS GS**

Breakfast the next day was a lighthearted affair, perhaps the need to relieve some of the pressure of their current situation caused their carefree exchange, as Frankie retold a story from her war experience. "So, I was working 'undercover', following the Alabama 120th, nursing fellows and such, when in rides ol' Stonewall Jackson himself. This was maybe six months before he died. He was astride his mighty steed, and glory shown about him, for he was greatly revered. On his face, he wore a sour look. He held his right hand up in the air. I thought maybe he was waving at me … so being a gal with a friendly reputation, I waved back. He set up camp in a huge, rather fancy tent, at least compared to what the rest of the soldiers were living out of … and over the next few days I saw him coming and going and most of the time he had his right hand up and his face all pruned like he'd soaked a little too long in the tub. Well, I always returned the salute with my arm raised and my face pruned up. But, it did concern me some, because I couldn't figure out if he was happy to see me or upset at something I might have done.

"Finally, I asked a young lieutenant I was friendly with, why the General always had that look on his face and his right hand raised at me, when we crossed paths. "He's like that to everyone." He replied. It seems, 'Ol' Stonewall liked to suck on lemons because he figured anything that tasted good had to be bad for his health, and anything that tasted bad had to be good. Furthermore, he was right handed and he reckoned that the blood in his body got all out of whack and raising his arm was his way of evening out the situation.'"

Matt added with a chuckle, "Poor Frankie, here you thought you'd caught the general's eye, and all it was, was sour diet and poor circulation."

Kitty was laughing so hard that she had tears running down her face, and this is the reason no one heard the knocking at the back door.

Beaumont Davis had been out early that morning with the premise of fishing, but with his real motive being to spend some time with Mrs. Kathleen Kent. He had landed his fishing boat along the shore line in front of the cottage occupied by Kitty. He'd hoped to see her in the yard, when he didn't, he decided to summon her, with a knock on the back door. He was somewhat taken back by the notes of frivolity which floated from the interior of the cottage. His knocks went unanswered and even his call through the screen door went unnoticed. So he pushed open the door and fell privy to the conversation inside.


	33. Chapter 33

**Thirty -three**

When the laughter had quieted, Beaumont made his presence known. "Hello." He shouted in a voice full of good humor.

Startled, those sitting around the breakfast table jumped at the realization they were not alone. Matt, whose weak right hand was wrapped around the handle of a buttermilk pitcher, lost control, dropping the container to the table with a crash, and sending the contents of the broken pitcher flying up in the air and splashing Kitty, Frankie and himself.

This was the scene that met Beau's eyes. Thick buttermilk dripped from the faces of the ten-day girl and Kitty, while it clung to the wild beard and eyebrows of Kitty's half-witted brother-in-law. Except now, Beaumont Davis wasn't so sure exactly how disabled the mind of the man actually was. "Allow me." Beau offered as he handed Kitty a dishtowel that had been hanging from a cupboard knob. He couldn't help but smile, for even in this soggy state she looked enchanting. "'My heartfelt apologies for startling you, I knocked at the door, but no one answered."

Kitty, ever the quick study, gave Beau a hasty, "thank you", for the towel and hurried to Matt's side.

While running the towel over his face she crooned words of comfort. "There there, it's alright. I know you didn't mean to drop the pitcher." She practically stuffed the towel is his mouth to stop any comments that might further give away his mental competency.

She turned her attention briefly to Frankie, "Lilly, please take Matt into the washroom and get him cleaned up."

Frankie had fully donned her Lilly persona, "Come on Abe, let's see if'n we kin squeeze the buttermilk outa them whiskers of your'n."

Kitty, who'd gotten the least of the buttermilk shower looked over to Beau with a willing smile.

He raised his palms in supplication. "Again, my dear, I apologize for surprising everyone so. It certainly sounded like a rollicking good time in here. I thought I heard your brother-in-law's voice. He sounded almost … normal."

Kitty could feel the pulse beating at the base of her throat, her 'tell' was showing and she hoped Beau wasn't knowledgeable enough to realize. "He does have his moments when he seems more like the man I used to know. But, I'm sorry to say they don't last long. They come and go quite suddenly. I'm losing hope that he will ever be what he was."

Almost imperceptibly, Beau's eyes narrowed and there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "It looks like you've civilized Lilly some as well."

Kitty's response was genuine. "She's a diamond in the rough Beau, I don't know what I would have done without her. I'm hoping to convince her to return home with us."

There were sounds coming from the washroom, apparently Frankie had persuaded Matt to play his part, for they heard guttural grunts and a series of gibberish spattered, 'no-no no'.

Beau seemed to weigh the evidence for a moment and then he asked, "Kitty, please, will you come fishing with me? Let me take you away from this for a little while. I have my boat docked, it's a lovely morning, and I even have a small repast packed in a wicker hamper.'

Here it was, Kitty thought, the door was opened and she knew she had to step through. "I'd love to."

**GS GS GS GS GS**

The river flowed with a most gentle current that morning. The breeze that wafted through her hair was almost summer like. She had worn a simple outfit, of dark skirt and white button-front shirt. She had left the top buttons undone and popped up the collar in the back, making her neck appear long and graceful. On her head was a tattered straw sunbonnet she'd found hanging on the sun porch. Her hair was tied at the nape with a black velvet ribbon and only a minimum of face powder concealed her freckles. They sat on opposite seats facing one another, giving Beau a clear perspective on his companion. She looked very young to him and very compelling.

Beau's fishing boat was made of highly waxed cedar, with a wide flat bottom and comfortable cushioned seats, it was a far cry from the battered dinghy she and Matt had hauled from the storage shed. Beau had rowed the small vessel to a hidden cove on the opposite shore and it was here he dropped anchor. He reached for one of several fishing poles he carried on board, baited the hook with a fine squirming night crawler and then handed it to Kitty. He did the same for his own behalf.

The overheard conversation back at the cottage, had produced doubt in his mind. He was concerned with Kitty's allegiance and wondered if she might be a spy in his uncle's employ. The talk of General Jackson and the Alabama 120th added fuel to his suspicion. With mild wariness, he had fishing of another nature in mind. "You mentioned taking Lilly with you when you return South … are you planning on leaving soon?"

"Matthew is much stronger than he was, But, I'm not sure that he is ready yet to travel any great distance."

"I'm glad."

She smiled. "Why?"

"It gives me time to convince you to stay."

"Georgia's my home."

He dug into the hamper and offered her a sandwich. "But, there is nothing left for you there."

She unwrapped the waxed paper from the bread, and took a bite. She chewed and swallowed. "Beau, I have my memories …"

He pulled a chorded rope hanging over the side of the boat and produced a bottle of champagne.

She laughed. "A little early in the day for the bubbly, isn't it?"

He popped the cork and poured them each a glass, "The French consider it the height of good taste to drink champagne with breakfast. I prefer mine with a strawberry, but alas they are not in season."

He held his glass to hers until a 'clink' was heard, "May I propose a toast? To our future Kitty, to leaving the past to it's memories and opening the door to new adventures and to new love."

She was quiet, her eyes downcast, she bit her lip before looking up and asking him the question with a tentative voice. "With you?"

His smile all but disarmed her. "If you'll let me."

"Beau, we hardly know each other."

"That can easily be remedied. Allow me to introduce myself, I am your humble servant, Beaumont T. Davis."

She laughed then, for he was as charming a man as she had ever met and had her heart been free, she could have easily become victim to the attraction. "Tell me about yourself Beau, did you fight in the war?"

He looked at her with true regret in his eyes. "No, sad to say, I did not. I was in Europe at the time, attending University at Oxford. I begged to come home, but my family felt it best that I stay and finish my education."

"I know your Grandmother's loyalty is to the South, but what about your family?"

He took a sip of the champagne, savoring it a moment before swallowing. "My family settled Davis Port in 1730, my father was a staunch supporter of the North, a Union loyalist. My mother strongly disagreed with his opinion, her heart remained with her family at Narcissus in Bloom. Considering their differing viewpoint, it is perhaps wise I stayed out of the conflict."

"How did your Grandmother feel about that?" Kitty asked as Beau's line began to tug. "Oh! You gotta bite!" She exclaimed excitedly. She grabbed Beau's glass as he jumped to his feet rocking the boat as he did. The champagne spilled over to her skirt, but she didn't notice. He began to frantically work the line, but to no avail and the fish got away. He shrugged his shoulders and sat down again. She handed the glass back and they continued the conversation.

"Grandmother sacrificed a great deal, two of her sons were lost, one at Chickamauga and the other at Cold Harbor. Her remaining son … well, I think he has never admitted the war ended in defeat. I believe she was relieved that I was spared the trauma of war."

It was such a pleasant morning, that Kitty almost forgot she was on a covert mission. "Tell me about your family here in Virginia, Beau?"

He smiled, showing off his perfect teeth and his irresistible dimples. "I was the only child of an only child. Any family celebrations were spent with Mother's relatives. She and I would take extended holidays to Narcissus, sometimes two or three months in duration. The only relation I recall on Father's side was a close cousin, who came to our house frequently when I was young. I remember, I called him Uncle Homer. He was, I believe a graduate of West Point, and later went on to serve in the Union Army. Funny, I haven't thought of him in years, I wonder what became of him?"

He reached for the champagne bottle and refilled her glass and then his own. "My sweet beautiful Mother passed away in December of '64. She simply fell asleep one night and never woke up again. I'm told Father was desolate without her and I suspect he lost the will to live. He died six months later. By that time the war had ended, Lincoln was dead and I was on my way back home. Sadly, I did not arrive in time to bid him farewell."

"So, I came back to Davis Port and took over my father's business. I've done a good job, the store does well, our other interests are profitable. I'm what most eligible ladies consider a good catch Kitty."

She laughed at him then. "I'd settle for a little nibble on my hook today Beau."

He reached across to grab her hand and bring it to his lips, "Well my dear Kitty-cat, I think you've got that and more."


	34. Chapter 34

**Thirty four**

They were waiting her return - standing behind the kitchen curtains, off to the side, windows open and only the wire mesh screen to shield the comments of Beaumont to Kitty.

Dillon with fists balled stood like a granite statue, a scowl chiseled on his rugged features. Frankie was much more pliant, for she was enjoying the whole romantic idea of the beautiful secret agent and her handsome prey. They had seen Beau dock the boat and watched through the tiny slit between the curtains as the pair walked hand and hand to the sun porch.

"I bid you adieu my lovely Kitty-cat. Were it not for pressing business matters upon which others depend, I wouldn't take my leave from you now." He took her hand and turning it over, pressed his lips to her palm. "Thank you for a most delightful morning. I can't remember when I've spent time as enjoyably."

"I enjoyed it too Beau. Being out on the water gives one a whole new perspective to things."

"I find that as well. Au revoir - business calls."

He had good hearing, whatever else was absent from the old Matt Dillon's skills, auditory acuity was not one of them. The sound of lips meeting lips and a breathless sigh were as deafening to him as a trumpeter belting out reveille in his ear. A hard knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Frankie, at his side, gave him an elbow to the gut. She hissed, "don't take it personal, she's just doing her job."

Shortly after, Kitty came bursting through the door with a glow on her face.

Dillon's glower did nothing but deepen. However, Frankie remained professional and to the point, "Did he invite you to the ball?"

Kitty removed the battered sun bonnet and then the ribbon holding back her hair. "No, in fact the subject never came up."

Frankie was shocked. "He didn't? But, Kitty you were to use your considerable charms to coerce him into inviting you. What happened out there?"

Kitty shook her hair and ran her fingers through the tangled tresses, "We talked and drank champagne. He told me about his growing up, about his family. He didn't fight in the war you know, he was going to University in Oxford."

Frankie threw her arms in the air and began pacing back and forth across the kitchen, "Kitty, we know all about Beau. Frankly, we don't care to know more about Beau. This was my fault, I should have prepared you better, we should have had you in something more provocative … This was our big chance, our golden opportunity … well … we're just going to have to think of some way to get Beau to ask you out again, maybe … " She was thinking now, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Do you bake Kitty? Oh, that's right ... you do. Nevermind, I'm an experienced baker, I worked for a chef in Montgomery … we'll send over an apple pie and say it's a thank you … better yet … you can take it over to him ... no that won't work … let me think …"

"Frankie!" Kitty interrupted, "Frankie! I'm seeing him tonight, he's taking me out to eat and then to a show at the Opera House."

Frankie relaxed and smiled. "Well, why didn't you just say so."

Matt's response was a singular sound. "Humpf."

Frankie pushed Matt aside, "We haven't much time … we're not going to make the same mistake this time. We need you dressed in something that clearly gets Beaumont's attention. Did Beau say what's playing at the Opera House tonight? Burlesque, play or high brow?

"Very high brow - some opera called um … La Traviata,"

"Really?" Frankie shook her head and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Matt asked gruffly.

"The story is about a beautiful courtesan … ummm … a highly paid 'fallen woman.' I've seen it performed, it's an extravaganza, elaborate costumes, you'll be competing for Beau's attention with the actresses on the stage." Frankie bit her lip, doing a mental inventory of Kitty's wardrobe. "We have so little at our disposal … one thing for sure, no binding the bosom tonight."

Frankie was talking a mile a minute, "Come on … let's see what kind of magic we can work. Have you seen the Opera performed before? No? Does Beau know you don't know about it, Good, I'll tell you the whole storyline …"

Their voices trailed off until the door to the bedroom was closed, leaving Matt Dillon on the outside. He turned his back to the intermittent sounds of giggles and soft spoken words. He was reminded of teenage girls getting ready for their first sociable. But this was so much more than that and aside from the jealousy that was eating away at him, there was the real fear for Kitty's safety. In frustration, he pounded the fist of his right hand to the palm of his left. With that action came the sudden realization that his strength was returning. He flexed his fingers and then mimicked a draw. 'No', he sighed soundlessly, not good enough but maybe … maybe with practice he could bring back enough that at least he could provide some defense. He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table and began figuring out a way to rehabilitate his injured nerves and weak muscles.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

The toll of the parlor clock and the knock at the front door came simultaneously at 6:00 PM that evening. Frankie, in Lilly face answered the door. Beaumont Davis was dressed in tuxedo and top hat, in one hand he carried a walking stick, with a fancy box tucked under his arm. He made a low bow and doffed his hat with his free hand, "Miss Lilly, how charming you look this evening and you smell divine, is your mistress ready?"

Frankie blushed, it didn't matter that she knew his fine manners and rakish good looks were well practiced for maximum effect. "She ain't ready yet, but if you wanna have a seat in the fancy sittin' room, she'll be out directly."

"Thank you my dear. Is Mr. Kent about, perhaps he and I can have a chat while I'm waiting."

"No sir, he's out fishing."

"Oh!" Beau said. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the confines of the visible environment - he could see into the small dining room and a portion of the kitchen beyond. There was nothing to rouse his suspicion. Then, almost as an afterthought he held forth the ribbon wrapped box, "These are for you Miss Lilly."

"Fer me? What fer?"

His dimples deepened. "A gentleman needs no excuse to give sweets to the sweet."

It was at that point, Kitty entered the room. She was wearing a black suit, form fitting and of exceptional fabric, which had lately belonged to Mrs. Johnston. She and Frankie had spent several hours taking in the seams so that the garment was most excellently tailored specifically for the wearer's curves. Four buttons down the front of the suit had been exchanged for rhinestone counterparts. However, the most significant alteration was in the absence of blouse worn underneath, thus the suit afforded an ample view of Miss Kitty's significant cleavage. She had foregone the adornment of necklace and had opted for her simple diamond studded earrings as her only jewelry. Her hair was arranged in a simple fashion, drawn back from her face to emphasize her beauty and bone structure. On her head was a small black velvet hat with ebony sequined netting that served to tease the spectator into desiring to see more. It was a dramatic look, almost theatrical in presentation.

The gleam in Beau's eyes when he saw her such, was enough to make Kitty's pulse quicken. She wished then she'd opted for a choker to conceal the telltale beat at the base of her throat. It wasn't her throat he was looking at, so she guessed she was safe.

"You are stunning, and I am a very lucky man. Come my dear, our carriage awaits and I have a surprise for you there."


	35. Chapter 35

**Thirty -five**

Sebastian opened the carriage door and Beau assisted her inside. Two gaslights lit the interior of the lavish conveyance. There, to Kitty's great surprise, sat Louisa Barger. "Come in." Beaumont's grandmother invited. She patted the spot next to her. "Sit by me, dear."

Kitty did as requested and settled herself beside the elderly lady. Louisa smiled and her grandson's dimples appeared in her cheeks, "I hope you won't mind an old woman imposing her presence where she's not desired. But I so wanted to see the Opera tonight and since the performers will be moving on after this evening's show. I persuaded Beaumont to let me join you.

Beau shrugged his shoulders, "It is difficult, if not impossible to say 'no' to Grandmother."

Kitty smiled for she had a genuine liking for Mrs. Barger, especially considering the fact she had tried to help an injured Matt. "I'm happy you can't say 'no' to her Beau." She grabbed Louisa's hand in hers, "It will be like a party then."

Grandson and Grandmother exchanged a quick glance. "That reminds me Beaumont, you have invited Kitty to our little soiree, haven't you?

Beau ducked his head and looked up with dimples and gleaming smile, "I haven't yet Grandmother." He turned to Kitty, "My dear Mrs. Kent - we're having a rather elaborate gathering. It's political in nature - just business really, with the same people you met at Grandmother's tea - rather a boorish crowd, who fancy themselves the height of the upper crust. I've not invited you because I didn't want to embarrass you. Considering the circumstance which brought you to Davis Port to begin with, I was afraid you wouldn't have anything appropriate to wear - and might feel out of place."

"Nonsense, Beau!" Louisa scoffed. "Look at Kitty - she is exquisite! She doesn't need a fancy ball gown to prove that fact. I daresay she confirms my statement this evening. A simple black suit has never looked more elegant." Louisa turned and lifted a kid-gloved hand to caress Kitty's cheek. "You will come my dear, won't you?"

Kitty gave a conspiratorial wink at Beau and softened her voice to sweet submissiveness, "If you'd like me to Mrs. Barger, I'd love to come."

She gave a triumphant thump with her cane to the carriage floor, "Good, then that matter is settled. Have you seen La Travaiota before?" Louisa asked.

"Yes," Kitty lied. "It is my favorite of Verdi's works, although it is a bit scandalous isn't it?"

"Yes dear, one of the things I love most about the arts, it makes that which is considered immoral, sophisticated, so those who deem themselves cultured can enjoy something that in any other form might be judged crude and in poor taste. There is a lesson to be learned of course. The woman of easy morals dies in the end."

**GSGSGS**

Matt had listened to Beau's entrance from the hallway. He paid attention to the nuances in the other man's voice. His concern for Kitty's safety heightened. After Beau and Kitty left, Dillon approached Frankie. His tone was demanding. "I want you to have Charlie get me a gun and holster."

"Well there's a good idea." Frankie replied sarcastically. "Have you forgotten where you are? Men in the East don't go around with a six-shooter strapped to their hips, especially those so recently discharged from the insane asylum. They'll have you back in St Vinnie's so fast, not even Homer Wilcox will be able to get you out."

"A gun Frankie. I need a gun. I need to start practicing with something besides my thumb and forefinger."

"Alright ... we'll talk with Charlie about it tomorrow. I guess a shoulder holster would be acceptable, you can hide it under your flannel jacket, provided you can prove to Charlie and I you're up to handling it."

"I want Kitty to have a gun too."

"Matt, you know as well as I that a gun in the hand of someone who doesn't know how to use it is more dangerous than not having a weapon at all."

"Kitty can handle a gun."

"Alright, we'll speak to Charlie about it." She put a gentle hand on his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. "You wanna play a game of checkers to pass the time until she gets home tonight?"

"Nah … I don't think I can concentrate on anything right now."

"She'll be fine. Beau wouldn't harm her … not yet anyway."

"Yeah … not yet …"

**GS GS GS GS**

The town square was a flurry of activity. Fancy carriages moving slowly around the block, stopping at the Davis Port Hotel to leave the theater goers off and then continuing the procession.

Sebastian pulled the carriage to a halt. Beau jumped down and then assisted Kitty and his Grandmother out.

"I thought we'd dine at the Hotel this evening. They have a new French chef and an excellent menu." With Louisa on one arm and Kitty on the other they approached the building. The double doors were flung open by two dark skinned attendants.

"G'evening Mr. Davis."

Beaumont responded with a nod of his elegant head. "Boys …"

The restaurant was teaming with fancy dressed customers. The main dining room was full, with several groups waiting in the lobby for a free table. This was not to be the case for the Beaumont Davis party, they were immediately led to a table in the back that was semi secluded by lattice work.

The ladies were settled in their chairs and the waiter in attendance appeared with a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild in a bucket of ice and a silver platter laden with a variety of very fancy Hors d'oeuvres. "Compliments of the house, sir."

With great show the waiter expertly popped the cork and served Beau a glass to taste. He deemed it fit and another glass was poured for Kitty. Louisa declined saying, "I'm tipsy enough without the aide of inebriations."

They sat having a pleasant conversation and drinking their wine when presently another party came parading into the restaurant taking the table on the other side of the lattice work.

"Well look who's here?" Frederic Deuth exclaimed, popping around the divider. "Lady Lydia, did you see, it's Beaumont and his two lovely companions. "Beau, won't you join us this evening? There's plenty of room here. The Merriwether's and the Rice's will be coming as well.

Louisa held up her hand, "Now, before Beau says a word, Mr. Deuth, I want your promise that no business will be discussed, at least until after dinner."

"My dear Mrs. Barger, how could we possibly discuss something as mundane as business when in the company of such captivating ladies."

Beau held out the chair for his Grandmother and assisted her in the move to the new table. Kitty followed taking a seat to the right of Beau. Within the next several minutes the rest of the dinner party arrived. And Kitty surmised it would have been a difficult thing for the men to discuss business amid the cackling going on between Mrs. Meriwether, Lady Lydia Van Klack Deuth and Mrs. Rice. Each woman had an opinion about the opera they were about to see and as the various courses were served, each with a different wine, their sentiments grew louder and more opinionated. For her part, Kitty was not feeling well and only picked at her food.

Lady Lydia remarked, "No wonder you are so thin Mrs. Kent, you eat like a bird."

Kitty replied with a faint smile. She felt slightly dizzy and more than a little bit queasy. She didn't say anything to Beau for she didn't want to spoil Louisa's evening. But, she did notice that Beau seemed a little green beneath his tanned skin.

When dinner ended, they left the restaurant to walk to the Opera House. Kitty found herself relying on the support of Beaumont's arm. Their seats were on the main floor center, Kitty was thankful to sit down for the dizziness was becoming more pronounced. There was a ringing in her ears that was exacerbated by the orchestra tuning up and the din of the audience waiting for the performance to begin. Her head began to pound and it felt like she was losing the ability to think. Suddenly she stood up, "Beau, I have to leave, I'm going to be sick." And that was her last clear memory of her evening.

**GS GS GS GS**

There was a knock at the door of the cottage around 1:00 am. Frankie answered the door. Sebastian stood supporting a very pale Kitty Russell.

"I'm afraid Mrs. Kent and Mr. Beau took ill. It must have been something they ate. Miz Louisa wanted Mrs. Kent to spend the night at Summerhaven, but she insisted I bring her back here. Would you like me to assist her to her bedroom?"

With sleeping arrangements such as they were, Frankie shook her head. "No sir, I reckon, she ought stay right here in the parlor on the sofa. I kin look after her better out here."

"As you wish." Sebastian said, if he thought her request was odd, he didn't say so.

Kitty slumped against the couch, Her skin was clammy, her hair sweat drenched, her clothing in some disarray.

When Sebastian left, Frankie drew the curtains at the windows and waited until the carriage drove away, before she motioned Matt into the room.

He dropped to the floor in front of Kitty, taking her hand in his. "Kitty, what did they do to you?"

She tried to focus on him. "ssSick." She replied with difficulty.

"Let's get her to bed." Frankie said.

Matt still wasn't strong enough to pick her up, but between the two of them they managed to get Kitty to the bedroom. Frankie eased Kitty out of the black suit jacket and then took her arm, turning it so she could view the inside. There was some bruising visible and in the center of the bruising a mark left by a needle.


	36. Chapter 36

**Thirty-six**

Frankie quickly turned Kitty's arm so the needle mark was hidden from Dillon's view. "Get out her nightgown would you Matt? She's a little feverish. I need you to go brew some willow bark tea. I can handle things here for the moment."

"But …" He hesitated reluctant to leave Kitty.

"It'll be fine Matt, don't worry. Please do as I say."

When Dillon was out of the way Frankie took Kitty's face in her hands, "What's your name?"

She was barely conscious. Her body was limp and damp with perspiration, but she managed a feeble response. "Kathl'n Ken'."

"Where are you from?"

"Wethersfield."

"Why are you here?"

"Brother-in-law Matt … sick needs me …"

**GS GS GS GS**

Matt Dillon kept watch even though Frankie assured him Kitty would be fine. Looking at Frankie he decided they were just words meant to reassure. He could tell from the frown which wrinkled her brow, she was worried too.

She had gotten Kitty changed into a long sleeved nightgown and propped her up in bed with extra pillows by the time Matt returned with the tea. He took Frankie's place beside her, sponging her face with cool water and trying to get her to take a few sips of the willow bark brew. Eventually, Kitty fell into a fitful sleep, and throughout the remainder of the night, kept up a steady stream of unintelligible mumblings.

At different points throughout the vigil, Frankie would question Kitty. "What is your name, where do you come from, why are you here?" Kitty's response was always the same, the words somewhat garbled but the message clear, "Kathleen Kent, Wethersfield, brother in law." The fact that Frankie kept asking the same questions only served to increase Dillon's anxiety over Kitty's condition and the building rage over anyone who would do her harm.

**GS GS GS GS**

Kitty awoke shortly before first light with stomach pain. The pain turned quickly to nausea. "Goin' t' be sick." She croaked, just before she was. The next several hours were a blur of nausea, retching and stomach cramps. It was nearly noon by the time she was up to any questioning.

Charlie Yeoman had arrived by then, alerted by the red bandana on the front porch newel post. He'd been briefed by Frankie as they walked through the house. Stepping into the bedroom he asked, "What happened?"

Kitty was sitting up in bed when he came in, still somewhat confused and ashen faced. Frankie moved to Kitty's side and took hold of her arm pushing up the sleeve of her nightgown exposing the needle prick. The area around the injection site was swollen and the bruising barely visible the evening before, was intensifying in size and color.

Charlie moved closer and ran a rough finger over the area, "_Varitatis_?"

"That's my guess." Frankie concurred.

"Why didn't you show this to me last night?" Dillon demanded as he too, took a closer look.

"I wanted to wait until Charlie was here in case you decided to react like a hot headed fool instead of a level headed government agent."

"I had a right to know Frankie." He reproached in a voice that was deadly even.

Kitty was trying to follow their conversation, but her mind was muddy. She ran a tongue over her parched lips. "What? What are you talking about?"

"What do you remember from last night?" Frankie countered.

She closed her eyes tight in an effort to concentrate. "The restaurant …"

"Were you feeling sick there?"

Kitty gave a slight nod. "I was fine when we arrived."

"What happened once you got there?"

"We had some wine and appetizers - then the Deuths, Merriwethers and Rices came and invited us to join them. I remember Mrs. Barger agreed but only if they promised not to talk business until after dinner."

"Mrs. Barger went with you?" Charlie interrupted.

"Yes, she said she wanted to see the opera, and it would be her only opportunity to do so."

Charlie and Frankie exchanged a sharp glance before Frankie asked, "When did you start feeling ill?"

"Sometime during the meal - I couldn't finish my food. I kept thinking the feeling would go away, that I was just nervous or something, but it only got worse. Beau looked like he was feeling the same way."

"What about Mrs. Barger?" Charlie asked.

"She seemed fine - in fact she was enjoying herself so much that I didn't want to say anything about how I felt. I didn't want to ruin her evening."

"There must have been something in the appetizers then." Charlie concluded.

"Yes, but … " Kitty ran a hand over her eyes as a wave of dizziness assaulted her once more.

Matt grabbed the basin, but she waved him off. "I don't think there's anything left to throw up." He offered a rueful smile and sat down on the bed beside her, grabbing her hand in his.

"But what?" Charlie prompted.

"There was wine - Mrs. Barger didn't have any - but Beau and I did - it was brought to the table - the waiter said it was - compliments of the house - Château Lafite Rothschild."

Charlie winced. "So it appears Alonzo left a calling card …"

"The bottle was opened at the table, they couldn't have tampered with it, could they?"

"What else do you remember? Did you get to the Opera House?"

"Yes … I remember walking into the Opera House. It was crowded and the air was filled with the smell of strong cigar smoke and French perfume. It turned my stomach. The orchestra was warming up. An usher led us to our seats, we were center stage. Mrs. Barger had complimented Beau on securing such a good location. That's the last thing I really recall other than telling Beau I had to leave because I was going to be sick. I must have fainted."

"So they got you out of there, but where did they take you to administer the _Varitatis_? And … what did you tell them while under the influence of the drug?" Charlie wondered.

"_Varitatis_? I don't understand. I was drugged?"

Frankie answered her. "Kitty, we think you were injected with a substance that some believe is a powerful truth serum. Certain individuals appear to be more susceptible to the drug than others."

"Injected?"

"That needle mark on your arm." Frankie explained.

"Truth serum? You mean they gave me a drug to make me tell them what I know?"

"Exactly. It's a mixture of exotic plant roots and herbs that has been used since the time of the early Roman army to extract secrets from enemies. Our government experimented with it during the Civil War. However, the Fraternatis were the ones to give it the name - varitatis - truth."

Frankie began pacing the floor, reviewing the timeline and information as it was known to them. "They tainted the wine to make her ill and used that as a ruse to get her out of the public eye. The Opera was slated to begin at 8:30, we can presume Kitty was taken out sometime before that. Sebastian said Beau became ill as well. But, what happened between that time and 1:00 AM when she was returned home. Who injected the drug into her system and did they inject Beaumont Davis as well? Who was their primary target?"

Charlie leaned against the window frame, pulling the curtains back, he studied the view of the river and the large home on the other side. "I'm not sure how much of what Sebastian says can be taken at face value. Still we know the Fraternatis questions Beau's worth to the organization. It could be they wanted to get a clearer idea of where his loyalties lie."

Matt pushed himself to his feet and moved to Yeoman grabbing his arm, forcing him to turn. "The cover's blown Charlie. it's time to get Kitty out of here, now. If you don't see to it, I will."

Frankie stopped her pacing in front of the men. She had a smile on her face that wasn't a reflection of happiness. "I don't think our cover is blown Matt. If Kitty would have given them any information they could use, they never would have let her come back here - she'd be at the bottom of the river by now. No, my guess is our cover is more solid than ever. Kitty didn't talk. I'd bet my life on it."


End file.
